Fancies
by ScintillatingTart
Summary: Eleven years after Cotterdam, is there any hope left? [Rated M for shenanigans; Harry/Ruth.]
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Spooks, never shall, never will. I only own my meager bank balance and the debt that comes with it. There's really no reason for this story, just pure fantasy and self-gratification.

Fancies  
>by ScintillatingTart<br>December 2014 –

One:  
>Unguarded<p>

The first time Portia asked, they were in the kitchen. Ruth was making breakfast; pancakes and scrambled eggs with cheese. The five year old was sitting at the table, her little feet dangling as she kicked restlessly, her eyes still droopy with sleepiness. She was armed with a cup of juice and her teddy bear, but it obviously wasn't enough because she said very solemnly, "Mommy, why don't I have a daddy?"

Ruth hesitated a moment, then turned back to the skillet, afraid of letting the food burn. "You have a dad, love," she said softly.

"Then why's he not here?" Portia persisted. Ruth knew without looking that she was animated, confused, her eyes huge and blue as the ocean. She knew these things as surely as she knew that this was neither the time nor the place to discuss such important things.

So she told the truth. "Your dad can't be with us," Ruth murmured.

Portia paused. "Is he dead?"

Dead was a thing five year olds weren't meant to know about; but their cat had died and Ruth had been forced to explain the concept of going away and never coming back to the little girl. "Sweetheart," Ruth said softly, "your dad loves you very, very much even if he can't be here with us. I want you to remember that, okay? Always."

Ruth plated up a pancake with strawberry jam and some eggs, and carried it over, placing it in front of her daughter. Portia looked up at her mother and all Ruth could see in her in that moment was echoes of her father – and it hurt so badly it took Ruth's breath away.

"I love you, mommy," Portia said with a sad smile.

Ruth reached out and gently soothed her daughter's ginger curls, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. "I love you, too," she whispered.

* * *

><p>The second time Portia asked, they'd just moved into a new apartment and she'd been forced to change schools for the fifth time in as many months. "Mom?"<p>

"Yes, love?" Ruth asked, unpacking a box of random things that had accumulated into clutter. She didn't know half of what they were, and there were some odd manuals tucked in here and there for appliances that hadn't made the trip.

"Did you love my dad?"

Ruth stopped dead and stared at her. "I did – I do," she stammered.

"You never talk about him," Portia said. At eight, she was far wiser than her years, and far more perceptive than Ruth wanted to give her credit for. "If you love him, why don't you talk about him?"

"Because I miss him something dreadfully," Ruth said very softly. "And it hurts, love."

"Oh," Portia said. "What's his name, mom?"

Ruth studied her for a long moment, then said, "Henry."

Portia took that in and slowly nodded. "That's a nice name for a boy," she acknowledged. "I'm going to go unpack my stuff."

After she was certain Portia wasn't lurking, Ruth exhaled a hysterical sob of pain. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much time passed… the pain never went away.

* * *

><p>The third time she asked, Ruth had just picked Portia up from the next door neighbors' after a date with Iain Lewis. Ruth had been seeing Iain off and on for several months, and tonight's 'date' had consisted of entirely too much wine, an entirely too expensive dinner, and a quick, sordid fumble in one of the most expensive rooms in the Beverly Hilton. She was really rather ashamed of being human and craving intimacy… but he was convenient, and so was Ruth. She knew that neither of them saw it as anything other than a casual relationship without strings.<p>

"Mom," Portia said very quietly, "Cate is really sad since her husband died. Is that like how you feel when you think about my dad?"

Ruth swallowed hard and got down the bottle of tequila, pouring herself a healthy shot before tossing it back. Eleven years had passed and every day was more difficult than the last. She was going to be hung over and sick the next day, but what the hell did she care? She hated herself for being human, for having needs. _Needs must_. An echo of him in her head.

She exhaled very slowly, then said, "Portia, that's exactly how I feel when I think about your dad. I'm sad and I'm scared and I'm so alone." Ruth looked over at her daughter and couldn't hide her tears; nor did she want to anymore. Portia was ten now, and she was old enough to know that her mother wasn't perfect and definitely wasn't infallible.

"You're not alone," Portia said quietly, coming over and hugging Ruth around the waist. "You've got me, mom."

* * *

><p>"So your flight lands at six am local," Catherine said cheerfully. "The girls and I are so happy you finally got your act into gear so you can come visit, dad. Charlie and Gracie have been talking about nothing else since they found out."<p>

Harry sighed and said, "Yes, well, I didn't want to trample on your toes so soon after Stephen… after Stephen died. You've got enough to deal with without your retired father getting underfoot."

Catherine laughed a little, then sighed. "Yes, well… oh, yeah, I forgot to mention – we'll have the neighbor's kid over a lot, too. Portia and Charlie are best friends, and Janet works long hours, so Portia spends a lot of time with us. She's like one of the family."

Harry said, "Ah. I see."

"She's a good kid," Catherine defended. "We should all make plans to go do things while you're here – it's only two weeks, after all."

"Yes, I'm afraid that I've got commitments booked right after the trip – my annual physical and a few other choice things," Harry said apologetically. Truth be told, he wasn't sure how Catherine and his grandchildren would react, emotionally, to him being there so soon after Stephen's death. He didn't want to outstay his welcome; he wanted to be free to return another time and try to persuade Catherine to come back to Britain. He hated that she was stuffed up in Burbank, a stone's throw away from where she worked as a producer for a highly successful drama series. Stephen had been a director, and the two of them had been a powerhouse in Hollywood circles. But now, she was on her own with a ten year old and an eight year old; he wasn't entirely certain she would survive it alone.

"Oh, well… maybe Christmas, then?" Catherine said hopefully. "We can talk about it while you're here. I've got to go – I've got to get back to the head of the network before he sends me another apoplectic email. I love you," she added as an afterthought as she hung up the phone.

He grunted and crossed the busy foyer to stand in line at the counter for his flight check-in.

* * *

><p>Los Angeles in July was a special kind of hell, Harry was quick to discover. It was barely eight in the morning and it was already ninety-eight degrees Farenheight. His shirt was awkwardly clinging to him with sweat and he really rather wanted a nice cup of coffee and a nap.<p>

"How was the flight?" Catherine asked.

"Long," he replied. And it had been. Long, lonely, and he'd found himself dreaming more than once about people who had left his life long before. Adam, Jo, Zaf, Colin, Ros, Connie… Ruth. Always Ruth. His stomach twisted in a knot and he fought to calm his breathing. Nothing hurt as much as watching Ruth sail away. Nothing. "Can we stop somewhere and get a coffee?" Harry asked. "I've got a frightful headache coming on."

"Oh, yeah, we'll stop at Starbucks – there's one five minutes from the house," Catherine said. "We've got to get back before Janet goes to work; Portia will be coming over after breakfast."

"So you're a glorified baby-sitter, then?" Harry asked.

"No, dad, I'm glad to do it – Janet takes the girls when I need a bit of time to myself, and it… it just works out, okay?" Her tone was entirely too defensive, and Harry wondered fleetingly if she had a crush on the other woman. Catherine had always been widely-swinging as far as her sexual proclivities, so it wouldn't surprise him if she was having a torrid affair with her neighbor.

"So, Starbucks?" Harry said. "Do they have real coffee or is it all covered in sugar and whipped cream?"

"I'll get you a plain black coffee," Catherine said. "And caramel hot chocolate for the kids."

Harry held his tongue: his grandchildren were going to turn out obese like all the other children in America if she didn't watch herself. Bloody hell. Ten years on, and it still bothered him to be a grandfather. Some days, he didn't feel old enough; others, he felt entirely too old.

About thirty minutes later, they were through the hellish crush that was Starbucks on a Friday morning and Catherine was letting him into a small, unassuming house. "Go on through – I'll make breakfast, if you'd like, dad. The girls should be up by now."

He passed the living room and a squeal of delight was issued by Charlie. "Grandpa!" she hollered at the top of her lungs, blonde curls flying everywhere as she catapulted into his arms for a hug. "I missed you! Hi! Want to come watch tv with us? We're watching cartoons. Portia came over early 'cause her mom had to go to work, so we're eating cereal and watching tv."

He had no choice in the matter: Charlotte dragged him into the living room and he sank into a recliner. Grace looked up from her bowl of cereal and smiled at him, but she didn't say anything. She was much more reserved than her sister, and looked a lot more like Stephen than Catherine, where Charlie was the reverse. The third girl in the room was very quiet, and eyed him with suspicion. This must be Portia, then; she had incredibly pale skin, freckles everywhere, enormous blue eyes, and flamingly auburn hair. And she didn't say a word, just looked at him, then looked back at the tv.

Harry was too tired, really, to protest when Catherine brought him an omelet and toast a bit later, and after that, he disappeared into the guest bedroom and collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion.

His dreams were haunted by memories, by desires long suppressed. He woke up in a cold sweat, then realized that the air conditioning vent was blasting icy cold air at him. Harry sat up and shook it off, feeling just as tired as when he'd laid down in the first place.

He got up, took a quick shower, and changed into fresh clothes. When he went to the kitchen in search of a snack, he found Portia sitting at the table, eating cheese and crackers. "Hello," Harry said. "You must be Portia."

"Yes," Portia replied. "And you're the grandpa."

Harry laughed; she was observant, at least. "Yes – but you can call me Harry," he said. "Your mum's at work, then?"

Portia nodded slowly. "She's always at work," she said.

"What does she do?"

"She's in PR," the girl said in a world-weary voice. "I don't know what that means, but she's always running out to take care of problems even when she's not at work."

Harry smiled wanly. "What about your dad?"

"I don't have a dad," Portia replied, repositioning a piece of cheese on the cracker. She added a bit of tomato and smiled up at him. "It's just mom and me."

"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "It's okay. I love my mom, a lot." She stuffed her cracker masterpiece into her mouth and didn't say anything else.

Harry made himself a sandwich, and retreated to the living room where the others were. "She's a prickly kid," he said to Catherine.

Catherine blinked, confused. "Who?"

"That Portia girl."

"Oh, no, she's not… she just doesn't trust people very easily," Catherine said dismissively. "Janet should be home soon – I made reservations for us tonight, so we can go out as a family. Did you sleep well?"

They discussed banalities, things that mattered but didn't matter, and he found himself relieved when the front door opened. "Portia, time to come home!" came the shout. "We're having pita, hummus, and falafel for dinner, love."

"Mom, what are we having?" Gracie asked.

"We're going to Uncle Bob's for barbeque," Catherine replied.

Portia skipped into the room to get her backpack and smiled. "Harry, would you like to meet my mom?" she asked cheerfully. Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the chair. "Come on. She's really nice."

He followed the little girl – he hadn't realized how petite she was until he was towering over her – into the front hallway, and Janet said, "Love, we don't have time for this – you've got your clarinet lesson after dinner, remember?"

"But, mom," Portia said, "I want you to meet Harry. He's Charlie and Gracie's grandpa. He's just come visiting."

The woman turned and Harry's sandwich surged up into his throat, like it might come back up. He'd know those eyes anywhere – he knew that face, had caressed it so intimately…

"Ruth," he croaked.

"Janet," she corrected brusquely, but he saw the recognition and pain flare up in her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Harry. Portia, we have to go – now."

Portia sighed and released his hand. "Sorry, Harry – mom must've had a bad day," she apologized very quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Cate said we're going to the Zoo." She followed her mother out the door, which slammed behind them.

Harry felt sick; after so long, so many years of being unable to find Ruth Evershed, here she was. Here she was with a little girl who was the right age to be his child. Here she was, within reach… but would it all be swept away again?

"Dad?" Catherine said. "What's wrong?"

"I… I – nothing," he denied. "So barbeque, then?"

"Yeah, let's get the girls ready and go – reservation's for six-thirty," Catherine said with a small smile. "You meet Janet, then?"

All he could do was nod dumbly.

END PART ONE


	2. Chapter 2

Two:  
>Sentimentality<p>

They returned after Portia's clarinet lesson and Ruth scooped some ice cream out into a bowl for her daughter. "You've done really well with your practicing," she praised. "You'll be playing in march time in no time if you keep it up, love."

Portia nodded and dug into her ice cream. "Do you know Harry, mom?"

"Who, love?" Ruth asked, trying to forestall the inevitable.

"Cate's dad," Portia said. "You looked at him like you know him."

"You're entirely too observant for your own good," Ruth sighed, ruffling Portia's flame-red curls. She had no idea, honestly, where her daughter's hair had come from – it must have been from Harry's side of the family. "I used to know him."

"He called you Ruth."

Ruth paused, then nodded. "I was called Ruth, once." She took a deep breath and murmured, "We're going to have to move again."

Portia's face fell. "What? NO! Mom, you said – you said we wouldn't have to move again," she protested, starting to cry. "I want to stay here!"

"Well, we don't always get what we want," Ruth said, her voice choking her. "I have to protect you and keep you safe, Portia – that's my job."

"I hate you," Portia hissed. "I hate you and if I have to move, I want to go live with my dad – wouldn't he love to have me with him, mom? Since you hate me so much!"

"Stop," Ruth said very softly but firmly. "You stop it right now, Portia."

The doorbell rang. Ruth and Portia sat across the table from one another, not moving. The doorbell rang again.

Ruth got up and went to the door; whomever she thought it might be on the other side of the door, she hadn't expected a delivery man with a huge arrangement of flowers in his arms. "Hello," Ruth said.

"Sign here," the deliveryman said. She did as he asked, then he passed her the vase. She went inside and carried the vase into the kitchen.

Portia's lip curled in derision. "Are those from Iain?" she asked. "He's trying too hard."

"I don't know who they're from," Ruth sighed, setting the vase on the counter. "Finish your dessert, please." She opened the card and felt the blood drain from her face. _Quos amor versus tenuit tenebit._ Tiger lilies, white carnations and red roses.

"Are they from Iain?" Portia persisted.

"No," Ruth said very softly. "They're… they're from… someone else."

Portia sighed. "I don't like Iain. Not after what he said last week on the phone when you were in the bathroom getting ready. He was talking to somebody and said he's just sleeping with you because you're the best at your job and you can get him a better gig."

Ruth felt her cheeks flush; her ten year old didn't need to know that much about her sex life. "Yes, well, Iain is a prat," Ruth snapped. "And I won't be seeing him again. Personally or professionally."

Portia's face lit up. "Good!" She paused. "Mom, I – I don't hate you. Not really."

"Even if you're mad at someone," Ruth said softly, "you should never tell them that you hate them." She paused. "But we do need to move. We've been in one place too long –"

"Why do we always have to move?" Portia whined. "I hate moving."

Ruth cupped her daughter's face in her hands and whispered, "So do I, love – so do I. But I have to do what I can in order to keep you safe. Do you understand? People who know me from before you were born… they're dangerous, Portia. I will do anything to keep you safe from them."

Portia frowned, her eyes filling with tears. "But – mom – "

Ruth sighed and pulled her daughter into her lap for a hug. "I wish things were different," she whispered. "I wish so much every day that I could take you home and we could be a family with your dad, love. But when I left… I knew it would never happen. That I'd always be on the move. And then I found out I was pregnant with you, and everything changed." She held the little girl and sighed. "I'm sorry, love. I am so sorry. I never should have dragged you into the world like this – it wasn't fair of me to be so selfish and want you so much."

"Tell me about my dad," Portia whispered.

"He was a very important man," Ruth said softly. "He kept London safe from people who would do bad things like explode bombs and kill other people because of their religion. He was a very good man, Portia, and I love him. Still, after all this time apart, I love him." She hugged the little girl and smiled. "And he would love you desperately, Portia."

Portia sighed. "I'm never gonna meet him, am I?"

"Maybe someday," Ruth murmured. "When the danger is past us."

Portia sighed and snuggled up. "Who sent the flowers? They're pretty."

"Mmm, the network sent them," Ruth said cheerfully. "Your mum managed to get them out of a scrape again, and they sent flowers."

Portia looked at her doubtfully. "Oh," she said, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

"Now, it's time for you to go take a shower and get ready for bed," Ruth encouraged gently. "We're going to the Zoo with Cate tomorrow, remember?"

"Is Harry coming, too?" Portia asked. "I like him – he's nice."

Ruth hadn't been expecting that. "I'm sure he's coming, too, as Charlie and Gracie are the reason he's visiting," she said. "And I'm glad he meets with your approval."

Portia got off Ruth's lap and scampered out of sight, yelling, "I wish he was my grandpa!"

* * *

><p>It was two o'clock in the morning when Ruth gave up on sleep. She got up and made a pot of coffee, then went to sit on the back patio with her Kindle and her thermos. She didn't want to disturb Portia's rest; the poor girl slept fitfully enough to begin with, rolling all over the bed, crying out violently with the force of her dreams, more often than not ending up on the floor when she woke up than actually in her bed.<p>

The outside light at Catherine's came on as someone came outside. It was Harry, clearly suffering from time change issues, with a mug of coffee and an iPad in hand. He glanced over at her, clearly alerted to her presence by the light of her screen. "Hello," he called, waving a little – as much as he could manage by lifting his mug in acknowledgement.

"Hello," Ruth replied, her voice stuck in her throat. "You didn't have to send flowers. It was excessive."

"Excessive is the price I paid to have them delivered by the time you got home," Harry said with a rueful smile on his lips. "You deserve flowers."

She suddenly wished that there was a fence separating the yards, rather than a communal backyard. He was too close, too near, yet so very far away. She wanted him, had missed him so much that having him so close was the very worst kind of torture, but she couldn't ask him to come closer.

"You shouldn't have bought me flowers," Ruth said. "You're here to spoil your grandchildren. I shouldn't even be in the picture, Harry."

He took a swig of coffee, then set the mug and the tablet down before crossing the property line with a strength of purpose that she'd only seen once before; when he'd thrown his phone down the corridor at Havensworth and followed her into her room.

"Don't," Ruth warned, stopping him in his tracks when he was merely an arm's reach away from her. "You're the great Harry Pearce of Section D," she reminded him. "If it were ever to come out that you'd found me… that you'd come after me…"

"Ruth, please don't –"

"Janet," she corrected him sharply. "I'm not Ruth. Not anymore."

"I didn't come looking for you," he said angrily, gruffly, "but since I've found you, you've been nothing but rude and –"

"I have a life, Harry," Ruth said. "A good life. I have Portia and a good job and a nice house and a car that doesn't make dreadful clunking noises when I slam on the brakes on the freeway. I've built all that up from nothing – I cannot let you tear it all down."

"I'm not asking you to –"

"Shut up and listen to me," she hissed. "The last time we moved, it was across the Valley, okay? Before that, we were moving every month or two because I saw Oliver Mace. I saw him, Harry. He saw me. I've never in my life been so fucking scared."

"Oliver Mace is dead," Harry said. "He died six months ago in a clandestine op gone wrong. He can't come after you again, Ruth – and no one else will."

"You don't know that," she hissed.

"I do," he said quietly, "because I got your name cleared – your real name. Ruth Evershed was posthumously exonerated of any wrong-doing she was accused of. I just… I couldn't find you to tell you."

"I don't believe you," Ruth said. "I don't – I can't."

Harry jerked his thumb toward her house, then said, "Well, if you don't believe me, we should talk about your daughter, then."

She blanched; did he suspect? Of course he did – he was the head spook. She couldn't hide anything from him, could she? Fuck a duck. "What do you want to know about her?" Ruth asked.

"How old is she?"

"Ten."

He inhaled and nodded. "Okay," Harry said, exhaling a sigh. "Well, that changes everything, doesn't it? Did you know you were pregnant when you left?"

"No, of course not," she whispered. "God, Harry, how could you think I'd walk away from you if I'd known I was pregnant with your child?" And that's when she realized he'd baited her right into the trap of admitting Portia's parentage. "Oh – Harry, I –"

"You sent me a postcard from Milan," he said.

She nodded, ashamed for still feeling so much for him. "Just to let you know I was all right. Then I flew to New York. It was easier to hide in America than Europe – Mace mostly annoyed the Cousins, so I figured they'd be less inclined to help him find me." She swallowed hard. "Portia was born in Omaha."

Harry paused, then said, "I don't even know where that is."

"Nebraska," she replied automatically. "It's one of the middle states. I got stranded on my way through because of an early snowstorm that dropped two feet of snow on top of an inch of ice… And then I went into labor. It was the most terrified I've ever been in my life; the ambulance nearly slid off the road. I thought we were both going to die." She looked up at him for the first time, really, and saw his concern mirrored on his face for all and sundry to see. "Harry… I can't do this."

"You're seeing someone?" Harry asked, his heart dropping.

"No," Ruth said quickly. "Well, yes, but – it's complicated and it's over because he's a piece of shit. So, no, I'm not – but –"

"I've missed you, Ruth. Badly."

When he looked at her like that, it was just like nothing had ever changed between them. Like she hadn't been away for eleven years, running from anyone that could possibly do her or Portia harm. His eyes were so expressive and all she could see in them was burning want.

"Harry…" she breathed. "I – I can't – I can't do this." She was flying desperately in the face of everything she'd ever wanted, but Portia was her first, nay her only, concern.

He only hesitated for a brief second before he leaned in and kissed her. It was the same way he'd kissed her after their one (and only) date; the way that made her drag him inside, kicking off her shoes and fumbling with his tie as they barely made it to the couch. It was the same way he'd kissed her the day after their date, after she'd told him they couldn't go out to dinner again because it undermined his authority. He'd turned up on her doorstep with a litany of reasons why she shouldn't care what others thought of her – and then he'd kissed her. That time, they'd made it up to her bed, but the headboard had come loose during their enthusiastic fucking.

And then Havensworth…

Dear god, the man could kiss. Her body was screaming with desire, a want that she'd never come close to feeling with anyone but him. She broke away and whispered, "Harry…"

"I never forgot," he rasped, his voice low and full of emotion. "I never forgot the way we were together. I can't just walk away." He took a deep breath. "And you've got Portia… our daughter."

Ruth's face contorted in dismay. "Harry… you can't just swoop in and scoop her up and call her yours," she protested. "If I'd have thought it was safe to tell you about her, I would have –"

"Where did her name come from?" he asked softly. "She looks like my mum, but Portia…?"

"My aunt," Ruth said quietly. "I named her after my aunt. Portia Eloise Williams."

Harry's brow creased. Ruth pulled further away from him, but he reached over and pulled her back, kissing her with all the tenderness of a lover. "She's perfect," he said, simply.

"Harry, it's half past the arsecrack of dawn," she pointed out.

"If I were home, I'd be up and taking my morning constitutional to the news stand," he said. "I'm out of place and out of time –"

She didn't hesitate, just acted on how she felt. Ruth crashed their lips together, moaning softly when he deepened the kiss, his tongue joining hers in soft reverence. It didn't take long before his hands were under her camisole and hers were in his track pants. It took even less time before they were darting inside her house, seeking a soft surface. They made it to the office, collapsing onto the futon and stripping one another down to naked skin between hungry kisses.

Their bodies still fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle carved only to fit together, and she exhaled a low, soft moan of bliss as his pelvis met hers and he was nestled completely inside her. They were both sweating and entirely too eager to find this kind of pleasure again; it was over very quickly. The pleasure was high, intense, a gossamer thread that might just blow away in the wind… but god, while it lasted, it was the most beautiful thing they'd ever experienced.

Harry collapsed against her and Ruth stroked his back, listening to the soft noise he made at her gentle touch. "Harry," she whispered, "I'm sorry. If I mistreated you before… if I –"

"No," he breathed. "Don't apologize. You're right. You and Portia have a life. I have no right to just… overturn the apple cart, as it were."

"You already have," she murmured. She didn't mean it to sound accusatory, but how else could it sound? "Harry… I've missed you, too."

She drifted to sleep, but she swore that as she hovered somewhere between awake and asleep, he said, "I love you, Ruth."

END PART TWO


	3. Chapter 3

Three:  
>First Light<p>

Harry thought he'd died and gone to heaven. He wasn't particularly religious – hell, he didn't believe that there was a god of any persuasion after some of the things he'd seen in his lifetime – but having Ruth tangled up in his arms again was the closest thing a non-repentant sinner would ever get to heaven. He listened to the sounds of her breathing, her deep sleep, and he smiled as he held her on the rickety futon.

He glanced at his watch and frowned. "Ruth," he whispered. "Wake up – it's almost six. I need to get back to Catherine's."

"No, don't go," Ruth mumbled sleepily, tightening her hold on him. "Stay with me."

"I'm meant to be over there," he teased. "I think my daughter might have a few choice words about my running over to fuck the neighbor."

Ruth pouted and looked at him with sleepy eyes. "Will you come back tonight?" she murmured.

"Ruth…"

"Harry…"

He sighed and kissed her gently. "I've already done enough damage, haven't I?"

She wasn't letting him go; he really wanted to get back to the house before Catherine noticed he was gone and sent out a search party. And besides, they'd all be together again in a few hours for the trip to the Zoo, wouldn't they?

"I'm the one that's done the damage," she said softly. "Go back to Cate's… we'll talk later. Maybe after Portia goes to bed."

He sighed and kissed her gently before he got to his feet and went in search of his clothes. "Where's your loo?" Harry asked.

"Just across the hall," she murmured.

When he emerged from the bathroom, feeling much better after relieving his bladder, she was in the hallway, waiting. "Hey," she said very softly.

He leaned in and kissed her. "Hey yourself," he replied in an equally hushed tone. "I'm here for two weeks. We'll unpick this together."

She sighed and murmured, "Please don't tell Portia that you're her dad. It will only lead to heartbreak when you go back to London."

He frowned; he'd honestly thought that she'd not be so pessimistic –

"Oh, don't give me that look," she sighed. "I can't just up and jump ship on my job, Harry. I'm top level with the firm now, just behind the partners. Why do you think I'm never here? Why do you think I feel so guilty when Portia wants me home and I can't be? You telling her that you're her dad will only make it worse. Then I have to worry about her getting on a plane and running away to see you." Her face crumpled and she began to cry. "God, why couldn't it be simpler?" she whimpered.

He hugged her tightly to him and tried to soothe her tears. Harry would never admit it aloud, but if she asked him to move his things across the ocean and the entirety of the North American continent in order to be with her and Portia, he would do it in a heartbeat. "We'll unpick it," he promised. "I'll get a bottle of wine or two and we'll just… talk."

"A bottle or two of wine and I'll be doing a hell of a lot more than talking," Ruth admitted, blushing. "Are you going to tell Cate?"

He shrugged; how could he make his daughter understand the complicated situation without causing anyone else more than mild distress? "I might, but I'll have to figure out how to do it."

She leaned in and kissed him, a tender, loving, passionate kiss. A kiss that held promise and devotion within it…

There was a shuffling noise, then Portia said, "Scuze me, I gotta potty." She didn't even seem to register that Harry was there, so he exhaled in relief and kissed the tip of Ruth's nose.

"That was a little too close for comfort," he whispered once Portia was in the bathroom. "I'll go now."

Ruth pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and whispered, "I'll see you later."

With that, he pulled away; he wanted nothing more than to stay with her, be with her… but it was too much, too soon. He went outside the back way and gathered his iPad and the cold mug of coffee before he let himself back into Catherine's house.

* * *

><p>"You snuck out this morning," Catherine said.<p>

"I couldn't sleep," Harry admitted. "I'm too far off Greenwich." He sipped his coffee. "Your neighbor, Janet, couldn't sleep either. We had a nice discussion – politics and the like."

Catherine made a face. "Trust you to chat a lady up with talk of politics," she grumbled. "She's seeing Iain Lewis, you know… he's from that show – bit part, really… um… _Hope Eternal_. That's the one. He's a bit of a twat, though. I'd like to show him a good what-for, taking advantage like he does. Just because Janet's good at what she does is no reason for him to beg her to clean up his image." She sipped her coffee and sighed. "I'm clearly too invested in her happiness, since I don't get up to much of my own these days."

Harry grunted something noncommittal. Gracie came into the kitchen and smiled up at him. "Hi," she chirped. "Can I sit with you and eat breakfast, Grandpa?"

"Of course, Gracie," Harry said, helping her up onto his lap. "There, that's better, isn't it? What do you want for breakfast?"

"I've got yoghurt and granola," Catherine said. "You need your energy for walking around the Zoo."

"Yoghurt and granola," Gracie said automatically. She was still young enough and sweet enough to be compliant; give her a couple of years, though, and she'd be as contrary and manic as her sister.

"So," Catherine said as she gathered their breakfasts together, "what do you think of Janet, then?"

"Catherine, don't play matchmaker," Harry warned. "It rarely ends well."

"I wasn't! I was just… you know…"

"Matchmaking. Leave it be," he instructed brusquely.

"Yeah, well, it's not as if you've been happy in years," she scoffed. "And you don't talk about the woman that did your bloody head in."

Gracie looked up at him. "Grandpa's head looks fine to me," she said, smiling a little.

Catherine scowled. "Yeah, well, your grandpa isn't supposed to be a grumpy old codger, now, is he? He's supposed to be happy."

Harry sighed. "I am happy. Within limitations."

"You're an idiot," Catherine snorted.

Maybe he was; maybe he was a bit touched for thinking that Ruth would still care for him so much that she'd be willing to give it another go. Maybe his heart was running away with his head… but he couldn't let go of the dream. Not now.

* * *

><p>Ruth set a bowl of cereal and fruit down in front of Portia. Portia looked at it and picked at it. "Oh, come on, that's your favorite – what's wrong?"<p>

"Was Iain here last night?" Portia asked. "After you told me you weren't gonna see him again?"

"No," Ruth said. At least that much was honest. "No, Iain was not here."

"You were kissing somebody in the hall when I got up to go pee. If it wasn't Iain, who was it? You're not just supposed to go around kissing people, mom." The little girl was clearly upset, and Ruth couldn't blame her much.

She took a deep breath, then exhaled. "Harry couldn't sleep and he came over for a while."

Portia blinked and then a frown came across her lips. "You can't just go kissing other people's grandpas!"

Ruth blushed. She sighed. "Portia… when I said that Harry and I knew each other before…"

"You had sex," Portia said bluntly. "I get that now. Thanks, mom, for being so transparent about the nature of your relationship. But that's no reason to have sex with him now, is it? You just had sex with Iain two nights ago. I heard it. Aren't you afraid people will think you're slutty?"

Ruth's mouth was set into a hard line. She didn't want to have this discussion with her ten year old daughter. She didn't want to have this discussion with anyone. "Sod what other people think," she finally managed to say. "I've been unhappy for a long time."

Portia nodded.

"If sleeping with Harry makes me happy, then sod everyone else." She shifted her gaze and looked at her child. "We didn't, but if it made me happy – and him besides – we would."

Portia's brows drew together as she ingested that information. She sighed. "You shouldn't let boys take advantage of you, mom."

Ruth smiled sadly. "Yes, well… if there's one person who would never take advantage, it would be Harry. Now, eat your breakfast."

* * *

><p>"I've got the cooler of water and the picnic lunches in my boot," Ruth said cheerfully as they loaded up for the day.<p>

Catherine smiled over and said, "Portia wants to ride with me and the girls. Dad has requested to ride with you."

Ruth stifled a sigh. "Ah, yes, well… we had a rather scintillating conversation early this morning, and I rather left him off because I was falling asleep. He probably just wants to continue it."

"Yes," Harry said near her ear, "yes, I rather would."

She jumped near unto a mile. "You can't sneak up on people like that!"

Catherine laughed and said to the kids, "All aboard, then – get in, find your seats, and get those seatbelts on."

As soon as her back was turned and she was paying attention to the kids, Harry leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Ruth's neck. It was feather-light and barely there, but it sent shivers down her spine. She was honestly a bit frightened about where this could lead – it was already into the realm of sneaking around, spying, lying…

Her phone rang and she reached for it automatically. "Janet Williams," she said quickly.

"Hello, Jan," Iain said, his voice smooth and silky.

"Oh, hello… look, I'm about to go somewhere – can I call you back? Later." _Never._

"Well, I've got a little suite booked for tonight, and a couple of bottles of wine… you could just… arrive."

Ruth took a deep breath, swallowed hard, then said, "Iain, this – you and me – it's not working."

"It's working just fine."

"No, it's not. Please don't call me again."

"You can't just brush me off, Janet –"

"Oh, please," she huffed. "I've never brushed you off. I'm simply stating a fact that I would prefer it if you wouldn't call me again. You can go back to your wife and entertain her now with your magical singing wang – and spend your money on her." She hung up the phone and glanced over at Harry, who looked more than slightly smug – at the thought that he'd broken them up? "Oh, don't you start with me," Ruth sighed. "Yes, I was fucking a married man. Everyone does in this hellhole."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Harry said. They watched the kids settle into Catherine's car and for her to give them the thumbs' up. Once she wasn't paying attention again, he took Ruth's hand for a brief moment, squeezing it. Then he was walking around the car to get in on the passenger side. "Bloody American cars. You lot are all backwards and drive on the wrong side of the road."

Ruth smiled. Maybe she'd be able to undo his disdain for her adopted country before he flew back to London. Maybe she'd be able to convince him to stay.

Such a finite idea made her heart clench; she wanted it, wanted him, couldn't bear to be without him now… god, she was a mess. A hot mess.

END PART THREE


	4. Chapter 4

Four:  
>Carside Confessional<p>

Once they were on the road, Harry asked the question that Ruth was dreading. "So… this Iain chap?"

"He's not you," Ruth said quietly. "He's not honorable or stoic or anything like you, Harry." She tried to justify it, had tried for years now, but their 'relationship' had been business and nothing more. Iain kept his business with the firm because she slept with him on occasion, and she told herself that his wife already knew and didn't care enough to stop it. Which may or may not have been true; he slept with many people. She swallowed hard and mumbled, "I don't know why, Harry. I gave up on lollipops and rainbows a long while ago."

Harry sighed over in his seat. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I meant… are you going to see him again when I go home?"

She licked her lips, considering her answer. "No," Ruth finally said. "We're over and done. I can't do it anymore, Harry. I've been… playing a part for so long I've become the role. I'm stupid and shallow and an adulterer and I can't do it anymore." She glanced over at him. "A good legend has some basis in truth, right?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

"My truth was always that I'd walked away from everything I could have had, and I've punished myself ever since," she admitted very quietly. "The Ruth you knew is so far in the back of my head, I don't know if she'll ever come out again."

"Don't say that," he murmured, reaching over and resting his hand gently on her thigh. "I just want to know that you won't start running because I show you affection, Ruth."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Harry, I –"

"There's no reason for you to run anymore," he promised.

She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't. Her default mode now was 'no' – denial first, then look at alternatives later. It kept her sane; it kept her alive. She knew she was paranoid – maybe even too much so – but ever since he'd appeared next door, she'd been looking in the shadows for someone who wanted too much to kill her. It was habit.

"Let's talk about you for a minute," Ruth said quietly. "Seeing anyone? Married yet?"

"No to married, yes to seeing someone," Harry said; his voice was gentle and silky.

She nodded sadly; of course he was seeing someone. Harry Pearce was a prime catch: he had position, a title, money laid away for a rainy day… who wouldn't pounce on that? "Well, then," she said very quietly, "seems like neither of us should have fallen into bed this morning."

"I'm seeing you," he added for good measure. "It's been you, Ruth – it's always been you."

Her gut twisted and tears sprang into her eyes. "Oh, god, Harry, I wish you wouldn't say things like that," she whispered. "You make me feel so… horribly guilty."

"You've done what you have had to do in order to survive," Harry said softly, his voice absent of any recrimination. "You've kept Portia safe and as close to happy as possible. That's… more than I could have done. I don't envy you any of the choices you've made in the last decade, Ruth, but I need you to know that I love you and have done for a long while. And I will support you and my child in any way I possibly can." He sighed. "I can't say that I will be any good at it, or that you won't hate me after a while."

"I don't hate you," she said quickly. "I could never hate you, Harry." She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the tears before they started. "I love you; why do you think I… I did what I did?"

"I know why," Harry murmured. "And I've repaid you a thousand times in kind, but you've never seen it. The grand gestures, the saving the world…"

"I've seen the saving the world bit," she admitted quietly. "Thank you, for that."

"For…?"

"Saving the world," she said with a small smile.

"Ah," he said with an equally small smile. "Well, it's not my job anymore – being a superhero is a job for all these young kids. I used to be one of them, but now I'm decrepit."

"You're not," she shot back quickly. She'd had first-hand evidence of his lack of falling to pieces. "Look, Harry… I don't – wait… you got fired?"

"No, I retired," he said cheerfully. "When one has a heart attack like event, it tends to change your way of thinking. Saving the world is a kid's game."

She almost slammed on the brakes. "You had a bloody heart attack?"

"A heart attack like event," he corrected. "My blood pressure went through the roof and I blacked out for a couple of minutes. I'm fine – I'm retired, I'm on tablets to control my pressure, and I'm sort of on a diet. Except I don't really follow the diet much, since my blood pressure's down."

"You daft, stupid man," she exploded, on the verge of tears. The very thought of losing him, even if he wasn't really hers to lose, was enough to break through that tough, no-nonsense take-no-prisoners façade she'd spent so long cultivating. In that moment, she felt weak, powerless, and more terrified than she ever had in her life. It made no sense – he was sitting right there, beside her, and she hadn't lost him… not really. But she knew, god, she knew, that she couldn't, wouldn't be able to stand living without him. Not again. Not when he was so close, right there, and telling her such sweet things like that he was in love with her, and had been for so long.

Something wonderful that was never said; well, now it was said and the words were jagged like the edge of a shattered piece of glass. They hurt, but they made them both stronger, didn't they? Not weaker. Stronger together than apart? Yes, that was how it felt.

"Ruth," he said softly.

"No," she whispered. "I – I'm not okay, Harry. I could have lost you and I would never have known. You daft, stupid man… you were supposed to take care of yourself."

"I only got shot twice," he said lamely.

"_Only_ twice?" Ruth echoed. "God, Harry –"

"I'm not that man anymore," Harry sighed. "I'm… settled. Stable. I guess you'd say I've been put out to pasture and let rest. But the first time I got shot, I remember thinking, 'Well, Ruth's going to be very cross if she ever finds out…'"

"I'm not cross," she spat. "I'm livid."

"Does it matter one time I was wearing a Kevlar vest?"

"And the other?" she challenged.

"It was unexpected," he admitted. "Just a through and through in my upper arm, though – nothing particularly galling, just annoying, really." Harry sighed and moved his hand off of her thigh. "Ruth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Then you should stop being so flippant about yourself and your health," she snapped.

They were at a stoplight; she turned and looked at him, and was surprised to see a smile on his lips. "There she is," Harry said very softly. "There's my Ruth."

She was silent for a long time; the light went green, the cars moved forward, but she felt like she'd left a piece of herself at the intersection. When she finally had the courage to speak again, she said, "I didn't know she was your Catherine, Harry."

"Hmm?"

"My neighbor. I didn't know she was your Catherine. I saw her file, remember? But… I didn't know. I don't want you thinking that I moved in next door deliberately because she was your daughter and I had this weird fixation or summat." She closed her mouth and inhaled deeply through her nose. "She and Stephen moved in next door a couple of months after Portia and I moved in. When the landlady died, her son let us both buy the property under a joint account, since it's really one property with two houses on – they're A, I'm B." She snuck a glance at him. "I swear, I didn't know, Harry."

"I believe you," he said softly. "But how will Catherine react when she finds out her baby sister has been next door all this time?"

"I'm scared of how she'll react," Ruth admitted. "She's the only friend I've got. I don't want to hurt her, Harry."

"You've got me," he pointed out.

"You've got a vested interest," she countered.

"I do," he agreed. There was a long silence, then he said, "I've always wondered what would have happened if Cotterdam hadn't exploded such as it did. Would we have got married? Had children? Left the Service together?"

"Pipe dreams," she murmured. "Fantasy, conjecture, speculation; we have no idea. I might have just kept running away from you, straight into someone else's arms."

"No," he said with such stalwart conviction that it warmed her through. "That wouldn't have happened, Ruth. Not after… not after we spent the night cuddled in the bath, whispering nonsense."

Two days before Mik Maudsley had ruined her life, they had had a quiet takeaway and talked, which had led to admissions of guilt and a figurative and literal washing away of their joint sins. It had been beautiful, and she'd almost forgotten it had happened, despite it being so profoundly lovely.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. "I would have married you in a heartbeat if you'd asked," she whispered. "I don't know what I'm going to do when you go home. Not now. Not when you've gone and got me so bloody worked up…"

"Come home with me," he said softly.

"I can't," she whispered. "Not without my passport and our daughter is American, Harry – not British. All of her papers are American. I can't leave with you. Not now. Not till we unpick this and make it right – but will that ever happen?"

"I'm still owed favors," Harry said. "It will happen, Ruth."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then… we'll make something else happen," he promised. "I'm not exactly tied to London anymore."

She nodded and wished, not for the first time, that she'd had the courage to go after what she'd wanted in the first place. Now it all seemed too little, too late, and it hurt to know that he might feel the same way.

A few minutes passed, and he said, "You're awfully quiet…"

"Traffic," she pointed out. It was difficult to have an emotional discussion when she was meant to not be crashing the car.

They got to the Zoo eventually, but they weren't able to park too near Catherine. It gave Ruth a moment to breathe, to contemplate, to be quiet and still. She had just gathered up enough wherewithal to kiss him and tell him what she wanted when Harry reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She turned to look at him, startled, but he was smiling hesitantly. And in that moment, she saw more love and acceptance in his eyes than she'd ever seen in her entire lifetime.

She swallowed hard and whispered, "I want… to be with you, Harry. I just… I'm not sure you'll like me now."

"I love you," he said simply, as if it were all the answer she could ever need.

Maybe it was.

She'd sacrificed herself for him on a noble altar – but in reality, it had been as twisted a gesture of love as Romeo offing himself, or Ophelia drowning. He might love her, but he might not like her in the morning when she was taking out the trash or when she was late home from work because she was stuck in a dinner meeting with a client. Everything was so big and scary, now. What had seemed tiny, minute before was really not. And it frightened her.

Ruth was not the same as Janet, could never be. Janet did things that Ruth never would have; Janet was a smokescreen, another personality to hide behind. Janet was a role; a brash, hedonistic role, full of pitfalls and stealthy maneuvers beneath a veneer of civility and ruthlessness. Ruth was still hiding in the corner, scared to face the love of her life and just bloody tell him how much she loved him.

Her hesitation clearly broke the moment, because he looked away and started fumbling with his seatbelt. Before she could muck it up any further, Ruth grabbed him by the arm. He turned to face her and before she could think, before she could stop herself, she was kissing him. "I love you," she whispered. "I love you so much, Harry."

He kissed her back, smiling against her lips, nibbling on her lower lip. A tapping on the window brought them back to reality quickly, as Ruth pulled away and looked guiltily at her daughter through the glass. Once the car door was open, Portia said, "What did I tell you about just kissing people, mom?"

Catherine stood there, staring at them both for a long time, then she said, "Is there something that you want to tell me? Either of you? I don't care which – but someone better explain to me what the hell is going on."

Harry looked at Ruth. She was petrified, at a total loss for words, and he looked bloody well like the most suave, debonair version of James Bond! He smiled just a little, then said, "Well, Catherine, if you must know… I was kissing my fiancée."

Ruth's eyes flew into her hairline and her jaw dropped.

Well, that was certainly unexpected.

He might have bloody asked first; she might have said no.

But the little voice in her head that reminded her so many times just how much she loved him refuted that. She would never say no.

He only had to ask.

The answer would be yes. A thousand times yes.

He came around the car and took her hand, his finger tapping against her skin. It took a moment, but she suddenly realized he was using Morse code. M-A-R-R-Y M-E.

A thousand times yes.

She pressed her fingertips into the palm of his hand in a similar rhythm. Y-E-S.

END PART FOUR


	5. Chapter 5

Five:  
>Confusing Clarity<p>

Harry was keenly aware of his daughters' recriminating stares. Portia was glaring at him, her face getting redder and redder, tears welling in her eyes. Catherine was just staring at him in utter, complete disbelief, her face a mask of confusion and hurt. His grandchildren… well, Charlie was trying to comfort Portia, and Gracie was just smiling a little smile. (He should have known that of all four of them, Gracie would be the one that would be happy for him for no reason at all.)

His heart was soaring in his chest, though, because despite everything… the ill-timing, the jumping before looking, the announcing… Ruth had said yes. He had proposed marriage, and she had said yes. They were finally on their way to something bloody amazing, and he wasn't about to let a little good old-fashioned familial disapproval to get in their way of being happy together. Not now, not after everything.

They were still holding hands, her fingers repeating Y-E-S over and over again, but now it was a nervous tick, not an affirmative to his question.

Finally, Portia spoke, her voice thick with tears that she was trying not to shed. "How could you?" she choked out in a tone Harry had only ever heard once before; an echo of Ruth in a hallway so many years ago, after she'd talked Angela Wells out of the room, after she'd saved them all by selling her soul. It was a tone of absolute betrayal and unspeakable pain; he immediately felt so guilty that he'd caused it. "You are a liar," she accused furiously, pointing at her mother. "A _LIAR_. I hate you. I _HATE_ YOU."

"Portia –"

"You love my dad so much, but you're going to _marry HIM_?" the tiny fireball shrieked, finally unleashing all of her anger and pain on the world. "_HOW COULD YOU_?"

He could see Ruth warring with herself for the longest moment about telling the truth, and then the scales tipped and she closed herself off from him, not saying a word. Harry took a deep breath and he knew that this was the moment where they were either forged in fire or broken completely. "Portia, I am your dad," Harry said quietly. "I am. I know I'm not what you expected your father to be –"

Ruth's grip tightened and she looked over at him in panic. He ignored it and waited for a reaction.

"What?" It was clear that Portia wasn't expecting that; neither was Catherine – she looked honestly like she'd been slapped in the face.

"I… I'm your father, Portia," Harry repeated. "And I love you and your mum very much. I know your mum never meant to hurt you by not telling you this; she was only trying to protect you."

"Don't defend her," Portia spat.

"I'm not," Harry said. "Believe me, if there was any way I could change how we've handled things, I would. But I can't; I'm only human, after all. And so is your mother. None of this changes how we feel about each other, nor does it change how we feel about you, Portia."

"How do you feel about me?" the little girl asked, some of the pinkness starting to die in her cheeks.

Harry paused; honestly… he didn't know for sure how he felt, aside from feeling a deep, abiding admiration and love for her because she was his. Well, strictly speaking, it was because she was Ruth's, but the idea of making such a strong, adaptable and sweet child with the woman he loved instilled him with a sense of pride. "I love you," he said, hoping it was enough. "And I'm sorry I haven't been here with you."

It was enough; Portia dissolved into tears and rushed into Ruth's arms, sobbing. "I don't hate you – I was so mad because what if my dad came and you were married to him and –"

Ruth just held her, stroked her hair, whispered in her ear.

Catherine took the few steps to reach him and she punched him hard in the shoulder. "You bastard," she hissed. "Why didn't you bloody tell me?"

"It's complicated," Harry sighed, wincing; of course, she'd chosen to hit him on the bad shoulder. "I'm sorry, Catherine –"

"No, you tell me the truth, don't just fob me off," Catherine hissed. "Now."

He watched Ruth comfort their daughter, and felt an overwhelming sense of love overcome him; it was stronger than anything else he'd ever felt, except when Catherine and Graham had been first placed in his arms. "Her name isn't Janet," he whispered. "It's Ruth."

Catherine gaped at him. "The woman that did your head in is my… my best bloody friend?"

"She didn't do my head in," Harry sighed. "She did something so brave and admirable, going into exile. It's been hard for her; so difficult. But we're together now, and we're going to make it work. I love her, Catherine, and she loves me."

"Love – love isn't everything," Catherine said very softly. "What happens when –"

"We'll work through it."

"Does this mean Cate is my sister?" Portia broke in, directing the question to Harry.

"Yes," Harry replied softly. "Cate is your sister; you have a brother, too, named Graham."

"Do I have to call her Aunt Portia?" Charlie whined, pouting. "It's not fair; I'm older than she is!"

"No, you can just call her Portia," Ruth finally spoke. "Just like you always have done." She looked up at Catherine and sighed. "We'll… we'll talk later tonight. I'll explain everything, Cate. I'm so sorry I –"

"Mommy," Gracie piped up, "can we go see the animals now?"

Catherine decided to put a pause on the conversation; she got their Zoo passes all together and handed them over to each girl with a smile. "Yes, let's go see the animals," she said with enthusiasm that might have been just a bit false.

Harry hated that all of their hurts centered on him; he'd spent his life fucking things up, and now he was having to deal with the fallout.

* * *

><p>Once Ruth knew the girls were all in Portia's room, watching movies, eating pizza and playing games, she joined Harry and Catherine in the kitchen. She set out the second pizza and invited them to take as they would; then she went to get the wineglasses and the bottle of 1997 vintage Shiraz she'd been saving for a rainy day. What the hell, right? She was an engaged woman – she might as well celebrate a bit with her fiancé before the light of day hit them again and made everything so black and white.<p>

"Pizza and wine?" Harry asked.

"Better that than tequila," Catherine replied. "Though I'm sure we could bring that, too."

Ruth sighed and said, "I thought we could act like civilized adults and talk."

"Oh, yeah, you first," Catherine replied, taking a glass of wine. "Because I want to hear all about how you and my father –"

"Catherine!" Harry exclaimed, aghast.

Ruth sighed and sipped her wine, settling in at the table. "How much did he tell you?" she asked softly.

"Just that he met a woman named Ruth at work and fell in love with her… but she died. He mourned you," Catherine said, sharply. "He did – it was so hard for him –"

"I am sitting here, you know," Harry muttered.

"I didn't die," Ruth murmured, "but Harry had to be seen mourning me and breaking down or no one would believe that it was my body that was fished out of the Thames." She frowned and licked her lips a bit before she said, "But nevermind that. I wandered Europe, hiding and running, till I found out I was pregnant with Portia. Then I changed passports and identities for the last time and came to the States. I was in Milan when I found out… and I sent Harry a postcard through political backchannels, making sure they took their bloody time passing it on, so when he got it, I was long gone."

"Why would you do that?" Catherine asked.

"I wanted him to know I was all right," Ruth said. "And that I still loved him. But I had to protect him, and Portia. I had no thoughts of protecting myself at the time; just them." She looked down into her wineglass. "Besides, I thought I was atoning for some sin or another I committed. I didn't realize I was punishing myself for nothing."

"But you just kept running?"

"Eventually, I landed in LA, broke as a joke. My car caught fire on the freeway and we were basically homeless," Ruth sighed. "I got a job, ground-floor, researching for the Hewitt-Ross PR firm, and got called up for a meeting when one of my little notes paid off." She smiled just a little. "Now I'm about to make partner in the firm, and I don't feel like such a failure."

"You aren't a failure," Harry said sharply. "You never have been."

"Oh, come on," Ruth said with a sad smile. "Homeless with a small child? That's pretty much rock bottom." She swirled her wine in her glass. "So I have no delusions of grandeur, really. I just know I'm bloody good at my job and some days, I think I might be a good mother."

Catherine was frowning. "So you're just going to marry him, then? After you've known each other again for… what… twenty-four hours?"

Ruth hesitated a moment, then looked over at Harry and smiled. "I'd've agreed to marry him after five minutes," she admitted very quietly. "The only reason I shut you out last night was because I was scared. And Portia really needed to be at her clarinet practice."

Catherine seemed to accept that, and began eating a piece of pizza with a thoughtful expression on her face. "So, what do I call you now?" she finally asked.

Harry huffed and set his pizza crust aside. "Catherine!"

"Well, no, I've always known you as Janet, and so do the girls… it might be confusing to switch things up now."

"Then don't," Ruth said. "I may never be Ruth Evershed again; it's all right. I'm okay with being Janet Williams." She abandoned her wine for a moment to hold Harry's hand. "Eventually, Janet Pearce."

Harry blushed a little and looked into the bottom of his wineglass, away from his daughter. "So, ah – my sleeping arrangements might need to be changed a bit," he said sheepishly. "I'd really like to stay here."

Both Catherine and Ruth stared at him. Finally, Ruth said, "Yes, but you're here to see your family –"

"My family is right next door," Harry pointed out. "It's not like I'm offing to a hotel and demanding you hold court there, Ruth." He reached over and took her hand in his. "I'd like to spend what time I can with you before I have to go back to London."

"Yeah," she said quietly. She didn't want to upset the apple cart anymore than she already had. Catherine was having issues with this; it was plain to see. Ruth was having issues with all of it. Harry seemed to be the only one who was not having issues; he was just pushing merrily along and desperately grasping at straws.

Catherine finally said, "Well… she'll need a ring, at any rate, or Iain Lewis will keep sniffing around and trying to pee on her leg like a dog. Not that I'm not a little… upset… about what's happening, but… You two deserve a bit of happiness. It's been a long time since either of you have been."

Harry looked a little flustered. "Ah, yes, a ring – I hadn't even thought of that yet."

Ruth smiled a little and said, "I don't need a ring; other people will expect it, though."

"You deserve a ring," Harry said. "A big, grandiose gesture of romantic love and –"

Her lip wrinkled and she made a face of distaste. "Please don't," she sighed. "Something simple will be fine. I don't care. It's other people who will."

"Yes, and your 'other people' will Google me and see that I'm a Knight of the Realm and expect better than a tiny diamond," Harry huffed, blustering a bit.

"Could you watch the girls in the morning?" Catherine asked. "Only I've got a showing at Harry Winston's for my Emmy loaner jewelry tomorrow and I can take Dad to look at rings, is all."

Ruth blanched. "Shit, the Emmys are Sunday, aren't they? Bloody hell. My dress is being picked up on Friday – I'm Joe Gregory's plus one."

"Joe Gregory?" Harry asked.

"President of INBC," Catherine said cheerfully. "International Broadcasting Corporation, dad – "

"I got him out of a scrape a couple of weeks ago involving one of their major reporters," Ruth said. "He invited me to the Emmys as his plus one. It's all very proper, Harry, I promise."

Catherine rolled her eyes. "As opposed to Iain Lewis – which, by the way, what the hell are you going to do about that festering turd, Janet?"

"I already kicked him to the curb," Ruth said dismissively. She glanced over at Harry, and sighed. "I might have been slightly overoptimistic about our chances of being together, Harry."

His smile grew and he squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you were. I don't like thinking about someone thinking they have a claim over you. Not that I do – you are definitely your own woman."

Ruth was about to say something, but the doorbell rang. She sighed and picked up her wineglass, taking it with her. There were only a few people it could be; all of them required more wine on her day off. She opened the door and blinked. "Iain. Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked. "I told you it's over. That means no more calls, no more texts, no more showing up on my doorstep because you want a quick shag."

He looked at the wine and leered at her. "Getting started for the night, then? I know how you get after a few glasses –"

Ruth rolled her eyes. "Iain, it's over. We weren't meant to be anything but a bit of a fling, okay? I'm done playing around with you, and yes, I'm feeling more than slightly guilty that your wife knows and is bloody okay with it. So it's done. I'm calling us – out of innings."

Iain Lewis was handsome; dark hair, piercing blue eyes, a bit rugged… a man's man with a pretty face and enough testosterone to sink a ship. He'd appealed to her, but now… the only person she wanted was sat in the kitchen, debating whether or not to have a second piece of pizza or follow his diet.

"What gives you the right to end it?" Iain asked, his brows drawing together. "We're just fine together, Jan – we fit well, we have fun and –"

"I'm getting married," she interjected. "And he's the only one I want, Iain. I'm sorry, but I'll repeat myself again: we – this _thing_ we had between us is over. We are done, through, over, no more."

There was a moment where she thought he might be okay with it, but then he asked, "Is he here? Is that why you're doing this?"

"No, Iain, I'm doing this because we aren't going to be shagging or seeing one another again!" Ruth exploded. "The fact that my fiancé is sat in the kitchen eating dinner is neither here nor there!"

He pushed past her, upsetting her wineglass; it splattered all over the rug in the entry and she cursed her inability to prevent this, any of it. "Well, you know what? I think I should meet this man – so I can tell him what kind of a woman he's going to marry," Iain said.

She grabbed his arm and tried to stop him. "Iain, no – stop it," Ruth insisted. "Just stop it – I never thought you'd stoop to petty jealousy when I'm not even yours! Go home to your bloody wife and leave me in peace, please – just… stop it."

He shrugged her off and headed for the kitchen. She followed him, pissed off that he would not take no for an answer, and scared at what Harry might do.

Catherine's eyebrows rose. "Iain, I didn't know you were invited to our little celebration," she said sarcastically.

"Piss off, Cate," Iain shot back. He stared at Harry for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "You're what she's marrying? Is this a joke?"

"No," Ruth said firmly, "Iain, I've told you we're through – I've not answered any of your calls or texts, and you think you can just come round my place and insult my fiancé? Get out. Get out of my house. Get out of my_ life_."

"Oh, please, Janet – even if I leave right now, you'll still have to deal with me at work. I'm your client, remember?" Iain snapped.

"I'll get them to transfer you to one of the partners' books," Ruth said firmly. "I mean it, Iain. We are finished."

Harry said, "This is the infamous Iain Lewis, then?" He snorted a bit.

"You're a downgrade, old man –"

"_ENOUGH_!" Ruth exploded. "Iain, get out of my house. Now. Before I call the police."

Iain paused, considering his options. "Fine," he said, his lip curling. "But I'm pulling my account from your firm as soon as I clear it with my agent. If the rest of them are as unprofessional as you are, Janet, I don't want them… touching… my image."

Ruth inclined her chin stubbornly and sneered back at him. "You do what you feel you must," she growled. "But if I ever catch you near my house or my family, you will be slapped with a restraining order and I'll sell the bloody story myself."

Iain pointed at Harry and said, "Just so you know, I practically had to pry her legs apart the first time. She's a bit on the icy side – takes a lot of persuasion and a hell of a lot of wine to get her to give it up, and she's not very good…"

Harry barked a laugh. "Ah, well, too bad you'll never know her real charms, then."

"Fuck you – you can have her," Iain spat, storming out.

Ruth just stood there till she heard the front door slam – hard enough to shake all the windows in the house. "So, ah, that's my ex," she joked lamely, fighting the urge to cry. It was just too much, though, and she croaked, "Excuse me," as she ran from the room.

She went to her bedroom and closed the door with a firm click. The bed was too big, too lonely, but she crawled up into it anyway, burrowing under the covers and curling into a tight ball. Only then did she allow the tears to escape.

Iain had humiliated her personally and now he was threatening her professionally – of course, she'd made a mistake in taking up with him in the first place, but it had been encouraged that she do what was necessary to secure his contractual agreement. Now, it was over and done and… and now she had to worry about losing Harry because her ex-lover was a prat.

She didn't expect the door to open, nor for strong, powerful arms to embrace her. Somehow, Harry's acceptance and love made it all that much worse.

"I love you," he whispered, holding her closer. "Catherine's gone home; she didn't want to upset you more."

"I'm not upset," Ruth lied, her breath hitching on a sob.

"Oh, hush and budge up," he murmured, curling around her and the blankets. "You don't have to lie to me. I understand. I wanted to punch the blighter in the face, but I respect you too much to hurt myself in a show of pride. What's important is that when he's gone, I'm here to pick up the pieces and help you move on."

"God, you're too good for me, Harry…" she whimpered. "And one of these days, you'll realize it."

He shook his head and sighed. "No," he said very softly. "I'm not, Ruth. I'm not a good man, despite what you think. I've done things… said things…"

"I don't care," she whispered.

"Good," he sighed. "Then we're equally matched. I don't care that you were shagging that fool. I just care that you'll be all right now you're not shagging that bloody fool."

Ruth sniffled and closed her eyes. "I'll be fine. I'm always fine."

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Harry murmured.

She sighed and burrowed even further under the covers.

END PART FIVE


	6. Chapter 6

Six:  
>Steps in the Right Direction<p>

The woman who was handling their time at Harry Winston smiled. "I'm Liz," she said cheerfully, offering her hand first to Catherine, then to Harry. "You must be Catherine Grey and…"

"My father," Catherine interjected. "Sir Harry Pearce. He's going to be my guest at the Emmys. Aren't you, dad?"

"Ah… yes," Harry said with a wan smile.

"So you're here today to pick some loaner jewels to go with your gown," Liz said cheerfully. "Shall we also look at a watch and cufflinks for your father?"

"Oh, yes," Catherine agreed excitedly. "And also, he needs to see about an engagement ring for my future mum-in-law."

Harry knew it would only go downhill from there; good thing he'd brought his black credit card. There were a few perks to being retired from MI-5.

He patiently advised Catherine on her jewelry, then chose a simple pair of platinum cufflinks for himself and a stylish watch. Their items were set aside with names on, and Liz turned back to them with a brilliant smile as she went straight into show-person mode.

Harry just held up a hand and said, "No, let's just let me look for the ring. I'll know the right one when I see it."

Liz's smile faded slightly. "Ah, you're one of those," she said.

Harry chuckled. "Yes, unfortunately," he acknowledged.

"He is," Catherine agreed.

"So, Mr. Pearce, may I ask what your fiancée does for a living?" Liz inquired.

"She's in public relations," Harry said vaguely, peering down into the showcase. Everything was sparkly and overwhelmingly… he didn't want to say middle class, because each ring was probably worth more than his new bloody car, but they were all very… not Ruth.

His gaze finally alit on something, and he pointed. "That one," he said simply. "Do you have it in a five? I'll take it immediately if you do."

"The emerald cut with –"

"Yes, yes, that's the one," Harry said firmly. "And I shall need a wedding band to go with it, same size."

"Those will be in this next case," Liz said. "While you look, I'll see if we have the Tryst in a five."

Harry glanced over the wedding bands and smiled. When Liz came back, he pointed out the one he wanted, and she went back into the vault.

By the time they left, Catherine was boggling at the sheer amount of money her father had just spent. Harry didn't care. He had Ruth's engagement ring, wedding band, and a beautiful pair of earrings from the vintage collection in hand; it was well worth the money spent if Ruth loved them.

"You know," Catherine said as they drove back over the Hill on Laurel Canyon Drive, "I am happy for you. Both of you. But it was such a shock, dad. Couldn't you have said something maybe to… I don't know, prepare us?"

"No," Harry said, "because it's all been happening so fast."

"Maybe that means you should slow it down," Catherine said. "Faster isn't always better."

"Maybe not," Harry agreed, "but in this case, if I take it slowly, it will be just like it was before. We'll dance around each other and pretend that it isn't happening and put it off till the end of never." He looked out the window, nervously clutching the handles of his shopping bag in his fingers. "I can't wait till the arse-end of never, Catherine. Not anymore."

She sighed. "Well, yes, but you're putting a lot of pressure on her, and Janet doesn't do well under personal pressure. She kind of… buckles. Professional pressure, she excels. Personal, not so much. And she'll have all kinds of questions like where you'll live, how soon you want to get married –"

"I'd marry her in the morning tomorrow if anyone would allow it," Harry said with a sigh. "All the practical details will iron out in the wash. I just know that we can't be apart any longer."

"And what about Portia?" Catherine asked. "Are you going to take over and be an actual father to her, or are you going to be absent like you were with Graham and me? Because she's not got a clue, dad. She's been with Janet all alone her whole life. You need to step up."

"I intend to," Harry said firmly. "She's my daughter, Catherine – and so are you. I definitely screwed up before, with you, but I will fix things. I have to. This… all of this… my family – it's all I have left. I sold my soul to the Service and didn't even realize it was trying to kill me from the inside out. Not till it was almost too late." He sighed and rubbed his face with his free hand. "I'm not that man anymore, Cate. You know it as well as anyone. I will do my best for Portia and for Ruth."

"You really love her."

"I do," Harry said simply.

Catherine nodded and smiled a little. "Then I'm happy for both of you."

* * *

><p>Ruth could hear the girls giggling and squealing in the other room as she downed her cup of coffee. It was almost enough to make her headache worse than it already was. She and Harry had stayed up late talking and she hadn't slept well all night, tortured by nightmares and the thought that she might wake up alone again.<p>

So Sunday morning was spent with coffee and a dozen donuts – ten of which the three girls had eaten in record time. The other two, Ruth savored.

She had just finished when Grace bounced into the kitchen and hopped up onto a chair. "Hiya," Gracie said with a smile.

"Hi," Ruth replied. "What's up, kiddo?"

"You're going to marry my grandpa?" Gracie asked.

Ruth nodded. "I am," she said.

"Will you make him happy again?" Gracie asked very quietly. "He hasn't been happy for a long time, Janet. He's been really sad the whole time I've known him and that's eight whole years!"

"I will try my best," Ruth promised softly. "Why is he sad, Gracie?"

"He's sad about Ruth," Gracie replied. "I dunno who that is, but he talks about her to mommy sometimes. He really loves her and she died afore I was born." The little girl frowned. "He shouldn't be sad now, though, 'cause he's got you!"

The little girl's revelation was like a slap to the face. It was an about-face kind of a situation: Harry had really loved her and mourned her as if she were dead. And now he was here, trying to be the man she needed him to be, not the man he was. She loved him senseless, but… "I love your grandpa very much," Ruth said very softly. "I have for almost as long as I've known him."

"How long's that?" Gracie asked.

"Almost fifteen years," Ruth said softly.

"That's a really long time," Gracie said. "How come you never married him afore now?"

"Because," she murmured.

"Because Grandpa loves Ruth?" Gracie asked, blinking.

Ruth nodded slowly. "I just hope he loves me as much as he loves her."

"He does," Gracie chirped. "He was smiling earlier afore he left with mommy. He doesn't smile much. He loves you, Janet." She smiled and kicked her feet under the table. "What are we gonna have for lunch?"

"I don't know," Ruth replied. "I don't know how long your mum and grandpa are going to be."

Gracie sighed. "You ate the last donut," she said with a pout.

"Would you like an orange?" Ruth asked. "Or an apple?"

"No, I want a donut… but somebody ate them all," Gracie said pointedly.

"All right, all right – will cinnamon rolls do?" Ruth asked with a sigh.

"Okay," Gracie replied with a grin.

"You're a little hustler, just like your grandfather," Ruth muttered as she got down the cinnamon rolls from the cabinet.

Gracie merely smiled and made off with her spoils.

Ruth went back to her coffee and reading files and briefing updates for Monday; seemed like a quiet beginning to the week was in order, for which she was grateful. It was about time: she was tired of dealing with daily nightmares relating to the latest Photoshopping scandal or who got dropped from Weight Watchers for being seen drinking a few too many cocktails. To be honest, she missed the intrigue and backhanded dealings of MI-5, but she would never tell anyone – especially not Harry.

The back door opened and Harry and Catherine came inside. "Hey," Catherine said with a smile. "I think I'm going to take the girls over to mine for lunch so you and dad can spend some time together. We can grill out back for dinner – I already brought down some chicken and steak from the freezer earlier."

Ruth nodded and smiled. "Yes, I think that would be lovely – I'll make the smashed potatoes with the cheese and things."

"And a salad," Catherine said. "We should have a salad – but first, let me take the girls home."

It took a few minutes, but Harry and Ruth found themselves alone. "Hello," Harry said with a small smile. "How was your morning?"

"I got schooled by your granddaughter because I ate the last donut," Ruth said. "She was properly annoyed that I'm a fat old lady who ate the last donut."

"You are not fat," he said. "You're curvaceous. There's a difference."

"Tell that to my thighs," she commented with a sad laugh.

"Your thighs are lovely," Harry replied. "Just like the rest of you." He sat down beside her at the breakfast bar and reached over to hold her hand. "Ruth… I've loved you for quite a number of years, despite – or maybe rather, in spite – us being apart such as we've been. I… I love you a great deal, and I would like to marry you because we care for one another, not just because we have a child together."

"Harry, I love you, too," Ruth said softly, squeezing his hand. "And I don't want to marry you just because you're Portia's father. Believe me, if I had my way, we would've been together long before now." She smiled sadly, then looked away. "I feel a right fool for running from you before. I didn't know what a good thing I could have had until it was far, far too late."

"It's not too late," he said quietly. He opened her hand and slid a cool band of metal onto her finger. "I want you to have this, to wear it, and think of me when we're apart, and when we're together. Because it's… it's important, Ruth. I want you to remember that we've spent too much time apart and that we want nothing more than to spend more time together."

Ruth turned her hand over and looked at the ring, tears obscuring her view. "Oh, Harry, it's lovely," she whispered.

"It's beautiful, but not so beautiful as you," he murmured. "It's platinum and –"

She cut him off with a kiss, not wanting to encourage him in listing off the ring's attributes. She could well see that it was an emerald cut center diamond and four small round accent diamonds on either side. Anyone with eyes could see that; it was a delicate, sensible ring, and it looked like it belonged on her finger.

"I love it," she said, stroking his cheek and smiling. "And I love you, Sir Harry."

He exhaled and chuckled a bit in relief. "Oh, good," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought… maybe… you were just having me on a bit."

"No," Ruth whispered. "No, I've spent years hoping you'd come find us, and now you have done. I wouldn't have you on, Harry." She gently took his hand and smiled. "I'd like to spend the rest of my life waking up with you like we did this morning."

He smiled and flushed a little. "It was quite nice," Harry said. "Even though we did nothing untoward."

She laughed. "Yes, well… now we have the time to be untoward." She twined her fingers with his and waited for him to show that he understood her meaning.

"Is it untoward if we're engaged?"

"I think to some conventional thinkers, it might well still be," Ruth said. "But we've wasted enough time, haven't we?" She slid off her stool and took a step away from the bar. "Come on, Harry… I probably won't see you at all tomorrow. We should make up for it today."

He followed her lead into her bedroom, and she released his hand to close the door behind them.

* * *

><p>Every part of his body felt empty, exhausted. After being celibate for so long, being inside Ruth was just damnably exhausting. Harry felt bad, just kind of collapsing on her like that, but she just smiled indulgently and ran her fingers through his hair. "I love you," was all he could think long enough to say.<p>

"I love you, too," she murmured back; the most beautiful words he'd ever heard, and they were tripping from her lips, directed straight back to him. It was like a dream, but so much better because it was real.

Reality came back with a bang. "I didn't even ask if we needed to use protection; I didn't think –"

"We don't," she replied softly. There was a long pause and he knew she was struggling to find the words she wanted to say to him. "I can't have more children. And Iain and I always used protection, and I get screened every few months just in case." She took a deep breath and said, "I was diagnosed with stage two ovarian cancer last year. I got everything removed and did a couple of rounds of radiation. I'm one of the lucky few who find it early enough to stop it."

He just stared at her, aghast, at the idea that she might have been dead by now. "Ruth, would you have told me about Portia if –"

She nodded and sighed. "Yes, it was written in my will that you be notified in the event of my death, and that you would retain custody." She looked up at him and said, "Do you mind shifting a bit? It's starting to get a bit uncomfortable."

He rolled off of her, then took her with him, letting her rest on his chest instead. It was more comfortable for both of them that way. Unfortunately, he was also stuck straight in the wet spot, but in the end, it didn't matter. Wet spots would dry.

"You could have called," he said quietly. "Or something, anything… you should never have gone through that alone."

Ruth shrugged. "Stephen and Catherine were very supportive."

"Yes, but –"

"I emailed you," she said. "It bounced."

"Because I wasn't at MI-5 anymore," he sighed. "Shit. Ruth, I'm sorry –"

"No, don't be," she whispered. "You're here now. We're bloody getting married. We've… we've made love again and it's just as wonderful as it was before. No more living in the past – the whole future is spread out before us."

Harry smiled and gave her a kiss. "It is," he agreed. "Now, I do have to go back – I've got an appointment for my annual physical, and then I've got the six month thing with the cardiologist. But as soon as those are done, I'd like to start packing things and having them shipped."

Her eyes widened. "You want to move here?"

"Wherever you and Portia are is where I would like to be, yes," Harry said.

"But – but you go to things like the Queen's garden party and you go shooting with Prince Charles," she protested. "I've seen the photos, Harry – it's the only way I knew you were still alive and not in some back alley somewhere, bleeding out."

He sighed. "My wife and my daughter are more important than any of that – future wife," he corrected abruptly. "And I'll be right next to Catherine and my grandchildren…"

"What about Graham?" Ruth asked.

What about Graham indeed. Ruth didn't know that he'd been sharing his house with his son and his son's girlfriend for quite some time. It was because, even with four jobs between the two, they couldn't make enough money to pay for a flat together. "I'll keep making the payment on the house in London," Harry said. "He can stay there. I'm less worried about him now than I have been in the past. He's clean and sober, and he works bloody hard. He's all but married to a nice lass named Sarah."

"So you're okay… leaving him behind?"

"I'll never be okay with leaving any of my loved ones behind," he sighed. "But he needs a chance to try to spread his wings, and he'll never get it if I'm there. Sarah will keep him in line. And there's always Skype for calling."

"But you want to be here?" she asked very quietly.

He nodded and stroked her back with a gentle touch. "I do," Harry whispered. "Very much so." He paused, then said, "You're much more entertaining than Prince Charles."

Ruth bit back a giggle. "Seriously, Harry, there's something wrong with your head."

"You've got the rest of our lives to figure out how to live with that," he teased, giving her a gentle kiss.

END PART SIX


	7. Chapter 7

Seven:  
>The Morning After the Day Before<p>

Ruth went to work early, a spring in her step for once. Harry had been very… accomidating… when her alarm clock had gone off at five; she'd almost been late getting out the door, sans coffee, because he'd taken the time to worship every inch of her body with his lips, tongue, and a casual wink of the eye. She hadn't wanted to leave her bed, which was definitely his intention, and she'd had to stop twice to make sure her shoes matched because he kept distracting her after her shower. Bloody man!

Of course, all it did was make her feel loved, cherished – well loved and cherished – and like she wanted to go home after work. Not that she didn't want to go home and spend time with Portia, but there were days when she just felt like she had no real reason to go home. Well, now she had Harry waiting for her, and it felt a little bit more like a home and not a house with her kid in.

The drive to work was the typical hell; it was why she left so early in the morning, to avoid traffic, but it's LA and the freeways are basically a cesspool of insanity and dreadful behavior at any time of day or night, so she just went with the flow. Without coffee. Because Harry had been naughty and got her hot and bothered and begging to come. She really had to make sure he knew that the coffee was non-negotiable; but she had no experience negotiating with terrorists.

Her assistant stumbled into the office around eight with a couple cups of Starbucks in hand, and a yawn on her lips. "Hey," Skye said with a bit of a smile. "You're in early."

"Paperwork," Ruth replied. "I'm buried in it. Seth wants me to look at taking on a couple of new clients this week, so I'm going over the particulars."

Skye wrinkled her nose and set one of the cups down. "Venti double shot mocha caramel macchiato with soy milk and no sugar syrup," she said. "How was your weekend?"

"Lovely," Ruth replied, not even looking up from her paperwork as she reached over for the coffee.

"Seriously or sarcastically?"

Ruth shrugged. "What did you do this weekend?"

"Eh, I went to a party at Miley Cyrus's on Friday and another one at Ben Granger's on Saturday," Skye replied. "Got hit on by a producer who wants my head shot and went home with a drummer."

Ruth shook her head and sighed. "You shouldn't get stuck too far into this lifestyle," she warned. "When you come up for air and you realize everything you've done is shit, you'll wish it all back."

"Smells like regret in the morning," Skye teased. "You have a shit weekend then?"

"I'm not taking calls from Iain Lewis," Ruth said. "And I've already put in a request for his account to be transferred to Norman's pile."

"Oh shit," Skye said, dropping into her chair on the other side of Ruth's desk. "Give me some files to go over and we'll talk. Who dropped whom?"

"I ended it," Ruth said.

"Yeah, but… he's good for you."

"No," she replied, "he's really not."

"Yeah, well, you weren't exactly complaining –"

Ruth looked up at Skye and said, "It's over between us. I've moved on and he needs to grow up and either be with his wife or be an adult and divorce her."

Skye blinked. "Wow. Okay. Um… well, it sounds trite, but he didn't deserve you anyway, Jan."

"No," Ruth replied, "he doesn't." She had a quick rummage through her desk drawer, looking for a highlighter. "Now, I've got several client meetings this morning, so you're going to have to man the phones and handle the small issues, all right?"

Skye sighed and tossed her blonde hair. "Okay, okay, but I've got an audition at three."

"I'll be back well before then," Ruth promised. "That being said, I'll probably be leaving early today."

"Oh? So by seven, then?"

"No, by four. I've got Portia booked in for a couple of things tonight. She's got another clarinet lesson and we were going to go start school shopping." Ruth opened one of the files and steadied the top page with her left hand as she began to highlight.

"Oh my god," Skye yelped.

"What?"

"That rock on your finger –"

Ruth glanced at it and smiled fondly. "Yes, what about it?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Skye pulled up a chair and flopped into it. She was the laid back typical blonde haired blue eyed California girl that Ruth was coming to embrace a little bit, and as much as she was nosy, liked to party a bit too much, and so on, she was a good worker and helped Ruth shoulder her burden… most of the time. "Like who this guy is and how long you've known him and whatever because you never said!"

"Are you concerned that I'm making a terrible mistake and rushing things?" Ruth teased.

"Well… yeah."

"I've known him for ages," Ruth admitted softly. "And we're not rushing things at all. His name is Harry."

Skye blinked. "Oh my god, you're not marrying Prince Harry, are you?"

Ruth's mouth dropped open and she stared at Skye in dumb shock. "What?" she spluttered. "Are you completely mad? Not everyone in Britain knows the royal family, Skye. How many times have I told you that?"

"Yes, but –"

"No buts," Ruth said firmly. "You're barmy if you think a boy like that would be interested in an old woman like me."

"So, your boyfriend is not Prince Harry," Skye said. "But he's named Harry. So… what does he do? Is he American, English… Welsh?"

Ruth wrinkled her nose. "How did you jump from English to Welsh?"

"I don't know – because you're not telling me anything?"

Ruth sighed and said, "Will you do some work if I tell you?"

"Maybe." Skye sipped her coffee and grinned. "He's got to be loaded if he gave you that ring. It's Harry Winston, isn't it?"

Ruth gave her a disapproving glare. "Money is far from everything."

"Well, I'd think it would matter a little bit because, I mean, you've never talked about him or anything."

"I have," Ruth said very softly, "but no one really listened." She looked down at her marker, then took a deep breath. "Harry and I have been very much in love for a long time. This isn't anything new, just… the continuation of our relationship where we had to leave it off. But that's neither here nor there. He's a retired civil servant and –"

"What does your daughter think about all of this?" Skye asked. "I mean, surely you've told her and all, right?"

"She's thrilled to bits," Ruth admitted. "She'll get a big brother and sister and nieces and all."

"So he's got kids?"

Ruth shrugged. "Yes," she said. "It doesn't matter. What matters is we love one another very much and… and Portia deserves to have a happy family."

"What about you? You're always thinking about your kid, never about yourself –"

"Harry is Portia's father," Ruth interjected softly. "There's a long story there, but this is the important bit: we love one another very much and that hasn't diminished since we were apart."

Skye's eyes widened. "You're shacking up with Portia's dad?"

"No," Ruth sighed. "I'm marrying him. It's not the same thing."

"Yeah, but – you've never really talked about him or anything, so I mean, is this really the proper thing to do?"

"Sod the bloody proper thing," Ruth said firmly. "We're making a go of it and anyone that objects can kindly go to hell."

"You're so British," Skye said, rolling her eyes. "Okay, so, anyway, you have a board meeting at three, and everything else you know already. Are you going to drink your coffee or what?"

Ruth sighed and picked up the cup.

* * *

><p>Portia sat across from Harry at the table, ignoring her cereal and fruit for the longest time. Instead, she just sat there, watching him. The way she cocked her head and peered at him like a curious bird reminded him so much of his mother; she had her grandmother's feisty spirit and flame-colored hair, that much was for certain. She didn't take much after Ruth at all, aside from the shape of her face and her blue eyes. Harry felt momentarily sad that their child hadn't been a carbon-copy of her mother, but he batted it away.<p>

"I don't like bananas," Portia finally said.

Harry blinked, then reached over and carefully removed the unpeeled banana from her placemat. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know." He paused. "I don't like bananas either."

"I love pears," Portia said with a little smile. "Mommy makes them sometimes with a little bit of marmalade and some cheese on top. It's really yummy."

He smiled a little. "She made that for me once as a snack."

Once the offending banana was out of the way, Portia sank into her cereal. She paused for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. "Can I call you Dad?"

"I'd like it if you did," he replied.

"Okay. Dad, do you love my mom?" Portia asked.

"I do, very much so," he said, picking at his toast.

"Then how come you never came to be with us till now?" She looked at him for a long moment, then added, "Is it because you were busy saving the world from the bad guys and didn't want us to get hurt?"

Harry took a couple of deep breaths, then decided to go with it. "Yes, Portia, that's exactly why I didn't come to see you and your mum – I was protecting you," he said softly. "Because I love you both very, very much, and I would be devastated if something were to happen to either of you."

"Do you love Cate like that, too?" Portia asked. "Because if you're her dad and you're my dad, we're sisters and sisters are supposed to look out for each other, aren't they?"

Harry smiled a little. "I do love Catherine, very much. And the girls, too."

"But you never come to visit. What happens when you go back to London? Will you ever come back?"

"Of course I will," Harry said with a sigh. "Eat your cereal – it's probably already mushy."

"I like it mushy," Portia said defiantly; that's when Harry saw the most resemblance to Ruth, in the determined set of the little girl's features. "Mom said you're a good man and you love us but she never told me anything but that your work keeps you away from us. I don't know anything about you."

Harry smiled wanly; there wasn't much to tell. "I'm older than your mum," he said cautiously. "We both worked together a while, and then we fell in love and were separated by people who had no business in our lives. I've spent the years trying to fix that, so we could be together again."

Portia nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then she took another bite of cereal. After she chewed and swallowed, she said, "How long will you be going back to London, dad?"

"Not more than a month," Harry sighed. "I've got doctor's appointments and then I have to make arrangements with your brother –"

"My brother's name is Graham?"

"It is," Harry said, nodding. "Do you want to see a photo?"

Portia nodded. Harry fished around in his trouser pocket for his wallet and pulled out the little photo window thingie. He had very few photos in it; one of Catherine and Stephen, one of Charlie and one of Gracie, one of Graham and Sarah, and in the very back, one of Ruth – it was a copy of the black and white photo from her personnel file, but it was something. He handed the whole thing over to Portia, who smiled. "These are good," she said cheerfully. "Is that Graham?"

"It is," Harry said.

"And who's she?"

"That's Sarah – Graham's girlfriend."

Portia got to the picture at the back and smiled. "Mom looks so young there," she said quietly.

"She was," Harry added softly. "But the world has been hard for her."

"It'll be better now that you're here," Portia said with a smile. "She missed you all the time. Really bad."

"I missed her, too," Harry assured her.

Portia said, "I'll be right back." She ran off, but came back a couple of minutes later, and pressed the photo window into Harry's hand. "It's all better now," she promised. "Look!"

Harry flipped through the pictures, smiling as he came to Portia's most recent school photo and a couple of photo booth pictures of her and Ruth. "Portia, don't you want to keep these?"

"No, they're for you," Portia said. "So you don't forget us."

"I could never forget you," Harry said, sweeping her into a hug. "Not ever, kiddo."

Portia smiled. "That's good, then."

* * *

><p>Ruth shoved the last box of her things from the office into the back seat of the car. Of course, the board and the partners had seen fit to fire her – albeit with a rather generous severance package – after Iain Lewis had made his complaints against her. Bastard. Ruddy, stupid arsehole.<p>

At least she could go home and have that early night she'd wanted… for once. Only once, though, because the job search would have to start first thing in the morning. And she'd have to call Joe Gregory and inform him that, seeing as how she was no longer employed with the firm, he would probably not want her to be his Emmy date. Especially since the tabloids would have hold of everything by the next morning.

Ruth climbed into the car and slammed the door shut before leaning against the wheel. "Please let Harry still be there when I get home," she breathed to no one in particular. "Please don't let him leave me and take our girl." She sat up, blinking back angry, scared, hot tears, and started the car.

By the time she got home, she'd worked herself up into a state, thinking that Harry would just take Portia and hop on a plane back to Heathrow. Once she got inside and heard giggling and her daughter's voice saying, "Daaaaaad, you can't do that – it's cheating!", and Harry's protest of, "How is it cheating if it's in the rules?" she knew that everything might not be so bleak as all that.

She stopped in the doorway, watching Harry and Catherine playing Monopoly with the girls, and sighed softly. It was touchingly domestic, the scene before her, but she didn't… couldn't… read too much into it. She still had to be on the ready for Harry to realize that she wasn't worth it, that this wasn't worth it…

"Mom!" Portia exclaimed gleefully. "You're home early!"

"I am," Ruth replied. "Do you want to have tacos for dinner tonight, love?"

"Yes, please – can we all have tacos?" Portia asked.

"But we're having hamburgers," Gracie protested.

"We can have both," Catherine said. "Don't you want to have supper with Jan and Portia?"

Gracie sighed and said, "I guess so."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"I just… it's not fair. Portia's your little girl and you go off and forget us and don't spend time with us now," Gracie muttered quickly.

"That's not going to happen," Harry promised, giving her a hug. "We'll get this all figured out, I promise."

"Dad, if you want to have burgers with them, you can," Portia said. "Mom and I go out for tacos."

"I thought we could have tacos here," Ruth said, "at home. We can make them."

Portia looked back over at her and said, "Mom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Ruth lied, "just I think we should stay in tonight. We could have tacos and burgers here at home and just… just be a happy family for one night."

Catherine was eyeing her oddly, so Ruth looked away. "Yes, we could," Harry agreed. "Or we could all go out for tacos tonight and have burgers tomorrow night."

"Okay," Gracie said.

"Sounds good to me," Charlie added, finally looking up from her property cards. "Mom, can we go to the library tomorrow?"

"Sure," Catherine agreed readily.

Ruth said, "Go on, keep playing. I'll just be in the kitchen."

She retreated to the kitchen and got down the tequila. Harry interrupted her in the middle of her third shot. "Ruth…"

"Don't," she said, putting the bottle away again. "Don't lecture me, don't say a word, Harry."

"What happened?"

"Iain Lewis terminated his contract," she said, her voice cracking. "And he lodged a complaint against me to the partners, who took it to the board… and I got fired. I got fired, Harry._ Fired_. What am I going to do? I've got savings, but not enough to live off of for long. I've got to cut a check for Portia's clarinet lessons tonight and I don't know what's going to happen, Harry. I think I deserve a bloody drink – or five."

She must have looked absolutely miserable because he came over and embraced her so quickly she didn't know which way was up. And she felt so stupid for her dismal thoughts in the car; of course he wouldn't abandon her. He was decent and honorable, unlike her.

"We'll figure it out," he said softly. "We'll figure it out."

She leaned into him, buried her face in his shoulder, and just let it all out – all the tears, all the pain, all the bullshit she'd been holding back for so long. He just held her, not judging, just accepting. Just accepting that she was only human.

END PART SEVEN


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for your patience; I've been dealing with a lot of issues related to the impending funeral arrangements, and I haven't exactly been in the best frame of mind to write.

* * *

><p>Eight:<br>Leaning Towers and Glass Houses

Ruth sat with Portia long after the girl had gone to sleep, afraid to break the spell of quiet bliss they had wound around the house for the night. Tacos for dinner had gone well, and Harry had promised the girls that he would go for hamburgers with them tomorrow night, rather than make a fuss about things.

Everyone was happy; except for Ruth.

She was basically in a state of blind panic about finances and job hunting and the possibility of the tabloids showing up on the doorstep in the morning… because God knew that Iain Lewis was front page news now. Or he would be when he was finished with his smear campaign. No one would care that he was actually the villain of the story; married man cheating on his wife be damned! No, the story would be all about how he was meant to be the innocent, pressured into sex by his publicist.

She looked up and Harry was standing in the doorway. "I want to protect her from this," Ruth whispered. "All of it. She doesn't deserve to be punished for my bad behavior."

Harry sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. "There's been no bad behavior between us; just a determination from you to cease behaving badly with others," he said softly. "I don't want you to hurt yourself more over this when there's no need."

She got up and tucked Portia in for the night. Once the door was closed (but for a crack), she turned to Harry and said, "How can you be so calm about this? I fucked another man, repeatedly."

"You stopped," he pointed out. "You stopped because you came back into my life."

She frowned and leaned into him. "God, Harry… what am I going to do? If I can't pay my half of the mortgage, Cate loses her house, too. I've got to get another job, and fast."

"I'll pay the mortgage," Harry said, "till you find something. Don't worry –"

"No," Ruth rejected quietly. "Harry, I can't just ask you to –"

"Consider it making up for all the years of child support I've missed," he said softly. "And stop arguing."

"What about your house?" she shot back. "Don't you have payments or…"

"No, it was my grandmum's," he said with a sigh. "I just took it over after I retired and fixed it up. I don't have any payments to make. Please, Ruth, let me help."

"You just spent god only knows how much money on jewelry for me, Harry – I can't ask you to take this on, as well. I just can't." She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "No one will want me touching their image or fixing their problems now; not after I've been caught out shagging that stupid bastard."

"Please stop and let me help," Harry said very softly. "I know a few people. Let me make a few inquiries."

Ruth sighed, then nodded. She was too tired and too upset to fight him on it; the day had been long and hard and now she was paying for it. "Harry, I don't know what I'm going to do," she admitted very quietly. "What happens if I go out to put out the recycling in the morning and there are photographers taking snaps?"

"I'll take out the cans," Harry said. "In my trunks if needbe."

"Dear god," she gasped.

"It'll give them something else to worry about than you," he pointed out. "By the way, if I see that Iain bloke again, the gloves are off."

She exhaled and closed her eyes. "Shit. Look… I'm sorry. Everything's gone pear-shaped and I don't want you and Portia stuck in the middle. And then you go and mouth off about taking Iain down a peg or two and it's already ugly, Harry."

He gently cupped her face in his palms and whispered, "Well… I don't like it when anyone hurts the people I love. And he's done just that."

She melted into him when he kissed her; it was unfair, really, the way he could turn her from sensible and pragmatic to a bit barmy and soft. When he pulled away, she murmured, "Maybe things will be better in the morning?"

"If they aren't, that's why you have me," he pointed out. "I'm outside the situation, aside from wanting to beat the crap out of your friend. And I do use the term casually."

"I don't want to talk about him," Ruth sighed. "I love you, Harry. I never cared about him."

He gave her another light kiss, then pulled away. "I think what you need is a nice hot soak and then we'll get some sleep."

"On one condition," she murmured.

"And what would that be?"

"You join me in the tub." A memory burned, white-hot, through her, of a time so very long before when they'd washed each other's sins away in the bath. They'd been too tired to make love, but it was so warm and fresh and intimately wonderful…

"I'm not entirely sure we could both fit," he admitted. "I've seen your tub, love."

She sighed. "Nevermind. It was silly."

"No," he said firmly. "Nothing you've ever done is silly, Ruth."

"Just forget I even asked," she said, pulling away and heading toward the bathroom.

* * *

><p>While she was in the bathroom, Harry made a couple of calls; one of which being to Joe Gregory's private line. He'd only played dumb with Ruth when he'd pretended not to have heard of the man. Of course he'd heard of him; not only that, he'd had a hell of a job protecting him near the end of his career. The chap had been so damn pleased that he'd offered Harry the exchange of a favor if he needed one.<p>

Well, the time had come and he needed that favor.

"Hello, Joe? Sir Harry Pearce."

"Sir Harry! It's lovely to hear from you –"

"Can we meet for early breakfast somewhere tomorrow? I've need of reeling in that favor from you, quickly as possible. It's to do with my fiancée."

"What's she gone and done? Not get enough airtime for a Knight of the Realm?"

"No, possibility of too much airtime. Plus she's got fired from her job and she's got this bloody complex about allowing me to pay her mortgage. Bloody women. Can't live with them, can't strangle them." His fingertips drummed lightly on the table. "I thought you might have something in your organization that might suit. She'll be calling you to call off your date on Sunday, so you know."

There was a long pause. "You're… marrying Janet Williams?"

"I am," Harry said firmly. "Don't tell me you had designs on getting in her knickers, too. I really thought you were above that, Joe."

"My intentions might have been less than honorable," Joe rejoined, "but they were not in that vein. I'd intended to poach her from the start, especially after the disaster that was Naomi Humboldt a few weeks ago. Now I have the chance to offer her a real job instead of the bloody mess she's gotten herself into."

"Good," Harry said. "But please keep it that way. I have enough complexes without adding a media mogul to the mix."

Joe laughed mirthlessly. "How is Five, by the way?"

"I wouldn't know," Harry replied cheerfully. "I've retired."

"Ah, yes, well… forgive me, but you didn't seem the type to just give in and walk away."

"Health reasons," he replied dismissively. "And then I happened by Janet purely by coincidence – we used to know one another, until she left Britain, you see… and the rest is history, now. I do believe I shall be moving to the States rather shortly, as I shan't like to leave her for very long."

"Well, I wish you both the best of luck," Joe replied. "Marriage isn't for the feint of heart."

"Indeed," Harry agreed. "I've kept you for too long. And Janet will be done in the bath soon and I should like to assure her that losing her job has no bearing on how I feel about her. She's rather worried about that for some reason."

"Go comfort her – by the time she phones me tomorrow, I'll have all of the details in place."

"Thank you," Harry said, honestly.

"Besides… Jan's not really my type," Joe said with a chuckle. "Good evening, Sir Harry."

Harry glanced up to see Ruth standing in the doorway. "Who was that?" she asked.

"No one –"

"Harry…"

"It was Catherine," he lied. "She's worried about you."

Ruth shrugged. "Doesn't matter much, really." She sighed and crossed the room, coming to rest beside him on the bed. "There's nothing she can do about my predicament, Harry, and there's not much you can do, either. I brought it onto myself, as usual. I'm always taking things onto my shoulders that I shouldn't."

"Give yourself a bit of credit," Harry said gently. "You've done a wonderful job raising our Portia."

She shook her head and sighed. "No, I've not – I kept her from you, Harry… that's not doing a good job. That was living in fear that someone would connect the dots and hurt you because of us. It still is."

"Ruth," he sighed.

"No, let me… please, just let me say this," Ruth whispered. "Everything I've done has been done out of fear, Harry. Fear of being hurt by you, fear of hurting you, fear of other people hurting you… fear of letting Portia down. I want to give you back the ring and send you home because I'm terrified that you'll find out that I'm not what you really want. I'm frightened that, one morning, you're going to wake up and hate me for the things I've done. And I don't want that to ever happen."

"It won't," Harry said, his voice equally soft. "Because I have the same fear, Ruth. That one day, you'll wake up and realize you've married an old man with more battle scars than a Viking and nightmares that will keep you from your sleep, and you'll leave me again. And I can't bear that thought. But I can't bear the thought of not taking this leap and being together. Do you understand? The need outweighs the fears."

"But why? Why do you need me so much?" she asked, face crumpling. "I'm nothing and nobody, Harry, but you've sacrificed –"

"You sacrificed everything for me," he said. "Everything, Ruth. Why did you do that?"

"Because I love you."

The answer was simple, but so full of pain that it nearly broke his heart to hear it. "I love you," he said, his tone low and full of every emotion he could muster. "Nothing was the same after you left, because I didn't have you to share secrets with. I didn't have you to hold in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep. I love you, Ruth Evershed. Do you understand now why I can't walk away? Why I don't care what you've done?"

She nodded and leaned against him, her wet hair cold against his jaw. "What am I going to do, Harry?" she whispered.

"You're going to worry all night tonight and in the morning, we're going to get up and start over again," he said gently. "I will cover the mortgage payment until you get back on your feet, and life will go on."

"You've already spent a small fortune on me –"

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is that you know that I will take care of you, Ruth, and our Portia, as well," he murmured. "All right?"

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "All right."

"And no matter what anyone says, I won't stop loving you because you slept with some silly bugger. I will, however, do my best to protect you from him."

"You know, when I was seconded to Five, your reputation preceded you," she said, her voice low and sad. "'Likes to love them and leave them', 'Has more notches on his belt than a bomber pilot', 'Goes after anything in a skirt'. I never expected you to be different, to have no interest at all."

"My reputation came about when I was much younger," Harry sighed. In point of fact, he was embarrassed still about his behavior as a callow youth. Affairs and neglecting his family, not to mention being a workaholic, had clouded over what should have been a good time in his life. And by the time he'd managed to save at least a shred of dignity, he'd managed to fall in love again and lose her in one fell swoop. "By the time I met you, I'd been celibate for ten years. I wasn't that man anymore, Ruth. It would take someone truly extraordinary to turn my head." He laid his hand over hers gently and squeezed it. "You are truly extraordinary in every way. I apologize for not fighting harder to get you home, but it wasn't safe until you were cleared of the murder charge. And by then… I had no idea where to begin looking."

"You're here now," she whispered.

"I am," Harry acknowledged. "And I'm not leaving again… without a good reason like my bloody heart doctor and such."

Ruth swallowed hard. "Maybe… maybe we could go with you?"

"Maybe," he agreed. "We'll talk about it later, though." He kissed her gently on the forehead, wishing he could take all of her troubles away.

* * *

><p>Ruth gave up sleeping after a while; her mind wouldn't stop racing in circles, each one tighter and more intricate than the one previous, until she was sick to her stomach and scared to death for morning to come. Above all else, despite Harry's declaration of love and that he wasn't about to leave her, she was almost convinced that when the cold light of day was upon them and he saw her in a different light, he would leave her there to face certain doom alone.<p>

After a few hours of her tossing and turning, and fidgeting, Harry finally woke up. "Are you still awake?" he mumbled, voice rough with sleepiness.

"Yeah; can't shut my mind off," Ruth whispered. "I'm sorry – I can go to the living room and –"

"Don't you dare," he said, smothering a yawn.

"I don't want to keep you from your rest," she sighed.

"And I'm awake," he said. "Turn on the lamp."

"Harry –"

"Turn on the lamp," he repeated.

She rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp. When she turned back, she saw his tired eyes… but more importantly, she saw the smile on his lips. "What are you smiling about?" she asked softly.

"How beautiful you are," was his immediate reply, "and how lucky I am right now to be waking up and looking at your beautiful face."

"Oh, Harry, you say such… such… such _things_," Ruth accused softly, leaning in to kiss him. "I'm not beautiful," she whispered against his lips, "but thank you for thinking I am."

"Oh, you are," he said in a no-nonsense tone. "Beautiful and incredibly intelligent…"

"If I wanted the Jane Austen version of seduction, I'd ask for Mr. Darcy," Ruth said pointedly. "But you're Sir Harry, and you had me at that bloody meeting on my first day, when you made that stupid joke and laughed like a psychotic lunatic."

"I did no such thing –"

"You did," she murmured with a smile. "Point being, I would've dropped my knickers for you, even then. Despite being told you were no good."

"I am no good," Harry replied with a grin. "But what about those knickers, Miss Evershed?"

"You're close enough," she breathed. "You find out."

"Is that an invitation?"

"Do you need one to get into my knickers?" she shot back. He gave her a look, complete with raised eyebrow, and Ruth giggled. "Harry Pearce, you are a naughty man. Yes, all right –" She wasn't expecting him to almost pounce on her, but somehow wasn't surprised when he'd already done it and her knickers were already off.

Looking back, she'd never felt so valued, so cared for, so loved, as she did in the stolen moments in the middle of the night when Harry worshipped her skin, her body, her very soul. This night was no exception; he raised her to the very peaks of ecstasy, and let her down again gently, cradling her in his arms and whispering to her all the ways she meant more to him than life.

And there, in the dim lamplight, she began to forgive herself a multitude of sins.

* * *

><p>Harry got up before Ruth (bloody time zones), and made sure the coffee was brewing. Still in his pajamas and dressing gown, he gathered up the trash and recycling, having gathered that it was pickup day, and headed down the driveway with the plastic receptacles. He wasn't expecting people on the front lawn, despite Ruth's fears, nor was he pleased when more than a few of them began taking photographs of him. "Bloody hell," he swore, pushing past them to the curb to leave the trash out.<p>

"And who are you, then?" one of the offenders asked.

Harry grunted and tried to push his way through, but was stopped by a sea of offending bodies. Eventually, he threw his hands up and said, "Why the hell are you here?"

"Iain Lewis –"

With the name of that _prick_ echoing in his ears, Harry smiled coldly. "Ah, yes, well, I'm the man that's going to set your record straight," he said in his best no-nonsense tone. "And then you will leave. Or I will call the police and have you arrested for trespassing on private property."

Dealing with the idiots from the Daily Mirror was going to come in handy.

END PART EIGHT


	9. Chapter 9

Nine:  
>Pieces of a Puzzle<p>

Ruth poured herself a cup of coffee and smothered a yawn. Portia was already eating her breakfast – Harry was very good about getting it ready for her, it seemed. And Harry was at the table, too, with a cup of coffee and a couple of pieces of toast. He was, rather interestedly, perusing her _Daily Variety _magazine and humming a little under his breath.

"Good morning," Ruth said softly.

"Hi, mom," Portia chirped.

"Hello," Harry said. "I don't know half of who these people are."

"That's fine, love," Ruth murmured. "I'm going to call Joe Gregory this morning and try to cancel Sunday. No point in him lowering himself –"

Harry glanced at her over the top edge of the oversized magazine. "Stuff and nonsense," he said. "I think you'll find that the allure of a beautiful woman on one's arm will cause many a man to overlook whatever transgressions the lady might have committed."

Portia giggled and said, "Dad, you talk funny."

"So do you," Harry said, winking at her. Ruth smiled as she watched Portia grin and tuck back into her cereal, clearly pleased at having a father who loved her and who loved to tease her gently. "You go do what you need to do, and we'll pass the time. The girls are coming over in a bit because Catherine has an appointment, and I think we'll watch a movie or play games again."

"Mom, can we go to London with dad?" Portia spoke up.

Ruth almost spit out her coffee. "Harry, did you put her up to that?" she asked.

"No, I certainly did not," Harry said. "Portia, I told you yesterday –"

"Yes, I _know_ what you told me, and now I'm asking mom because she loves me more," Portia said indignantly. "You only know me a little. She knows me a lot."

"Whether or not I know you has no bearing at all on whether or not you and I can travel with your dad," Ruth said firmly. "It's too expensive to just hop on a plane, Portia. Your father already has his tickets arranged and –"

"That's not fair," Portia said sharply. "He'll go and won't come back! He'll forget about us and –"

"I won't," Harry interjected. "Portia, it's very complicated to travel between countries, and you probably don't have a passport –"

"_I DO_," Portia said. "Mom keeps it in her dresser. She said if anything ever happened to her, I had to be ready to go live with my dad, so I've got one of those."

Ruth sighed. "Portia Eloise… please don't make a scene about this. Your dad has to go back to London and you and I have to stay here. End of story, young lady. Maybe sometime soon, Cate and the girls would like to come with us and we can go, but for right now, it's just not feasible."

"It's not fair," Portia huffed. "What if dad realizes he made a mistake and he doesn't want to come back to California, mom? What then? Can we go then?"

Harry set aside the magazine and said, "Portia, wherever you and your mum are is where I'd like to be. I will be coming back, soon as."

Portia frowned. "I don't want you to go!"

"And I don't want to go," he replied. "But my doctor will be very cross with me if I don't make my appointments."

Portia pouted. "It's not fair."

"No," Harry agreed patiently, "it's not fair. But I will bring you something back, okay? Something wonderful and just for you."

"Like what?"

"Like never you mind right now," Harry said, "and eat your breakfast, love." He caught Ruth's eye and gestured for her to go, seeming to have everything in-hand. "Now, what shall we do today? Should we play games or should we watch a movie?" he asked as Ruth retreated back down the hallway to her bedroom.

She got on the phone and waited. "Hello, Joe? It's Jan," she said.

"Janet, good morning – I was going to call you and make certain that you've got everything in-hand for Sunday…"

"Joe, I can't go on Sunday."

"Why ever not?"

Ruth sighed. "Because you don't want me on your arm after the Iain Lewis thing breaks."

"It's already broken – by the way, how long have you been shagging that piece of work?" Joe asked. "I had one of my reporters on your lawn this morning in case things got ugly, but your man friend seems to have calmed things down immensely."

"Well, I – wait, what?" Ruth asked, stammering a little.

"Your gentleman friend… Sir Harry Pearce, I believe he told the gaggle of reporters?" There was a pause while she digested that, then he added, "He did take out your rubbish this morning, didn't he?"

"Ah, yes," Ruth exhaled. "And he's not my… friend. He's my fiancé."

"Oh, really? Gone and snagged yourself a knight?" Joe teased. "You'll need a bit of respectability, what with all the hellfire Iain Lewis is trying to rain down on you. I've been trying to keep the hounds at bay, and so it seems, also, has been your fellow." There was another pause. "Jan, look, I know you've had a rough couple of days –"

Ruth shook her head and sighed. "Joe, the last thing you need is bad publicity –"

"I'm no stranger to bad publicity," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "My son likes to blow up science experiments and my daughter used to take off her clothes and her diaper and run all about like a wild child… not to mention the spectacular way my wife deserted our family and the way I've crashed my car twice. You're the least of my worries, Jan."

"Yes, but –"

"Look, pick a place and I'll meet you there in half an hour. We'll talk. I fancy a coffee and some eggs."

"That little place on Magnolia?" Ruth suggested.

"I'll be there," he agreed. "Janet, picking you and Portia up on the side of the road and taking you home with me was the best thing I've ever done. You do believe me when I say that, right?"

"Maybe, a little," Ruth said quietly. She was taken back to the day, in a flash, when her car had all but caught fire on the side of the freeway, torching all of their meager belongings with it. Out of nowhere, a limo had pulled over on the side of the road and Joe had offered them shelter and a new beginning. She owed him, and now she'd disappointed him in more ways than one. "Joe, I –"

"I've got a job I want you to do for me," Joe said. "But I want to talk to you about it face-to-face."

"All right," Ruth sighed. "Half an hour. I'll be there." She hung up and got dressed quickly. When she was done, she threw her phone into her purse and headed toward the kitchen. "I've got to go out," Ruth said. "Do you want anything while I'm out? What are we doing for lunch?"

"Never you mind about that," Harry said. He gave her a quick kiss and smiled. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmured. "Especially for going to bat for me this morning; you didn't have to, you know."

"Yes," he said simply, "I did. Now, off with you. When you get back, we'll be happily watching the new _My Little Pony_ thing the girls are so into."

Ruth gave him a gentle, lingering kiss. "You're a good dad," she murmured. "Oi, you, Portia – you behave for your dad. Got me?"

"Loud and clear, mom."

Ruth hugged her daughter and whispered, "I love you."

Portia said, "I love you, too, mom. See you later."

* * *

><p>The diner was bustling with overflow from Warner Brothers Studios and the surrounding music offices, as well, not to mention the normal crowds. Joe was already tucked into the corner booth when Ruth arrived, and she waved at him and hurried to join him.<p>

"Got you that caramel coffee thing you like," Joe said with a warm, fond smile.

Ruth appraised him for a moment, then smiled back. They had an easy friendship; he'd been coming off the heels of his messy divorce when they'd met, and he'd been noble and kind to her. She'd repaid him in full, and took time to help him with his kids once in a while. Joe was on the low end of forty, only a few years younger than Ruth, and she felt toward him like a little brother. They did one another favors… but not of the sexual nature. She couldn't see him like that, and likewise, he had no interest in her.

No, his interest lay pretty squarely on Catherine Grey, but she would remain unattainable until she 'got over' Stephen. Which would probably be the arse end of never.

"Oh, thanks – I could do with a full English, but god knows it'll never happen," Ruth said with a chuckle. "So… how are Billy and Maisie?"

"Maisie's learning to read, so she's always bringing books into my office and reading them to me," Joe said with a smile. "And Billy's having entirely too much fun with that book of practical science experiments you gave him for his birthday."

Ruth smiled and said, "I knew he would – and Maisie's got a bright future ahead of her, you know."

Joe reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it tight. "Jan, what are you planning to do now you've been let go?"

She squeezed his hand and pulled away, sighing. "I don't know, really," she admitted quietly. "There's not much I can do but try to find a different job and hope it's soon, so the mortgage doesn't go into default."

"I've got a position open –"

"Joe, come on," Ruth said. "How many times have you offered me a network job and how many times have I turned you down?"

"This isn't exactly a network job," Joe said. "I've been saying for years we need to streamline the PR office and the communications office into one division, and you getting your arse handed to you yesterday just brought it forward a bit."

The waitress brought over two coffees and a plate of honeyed fry bread. Ruth immediately reached for the fry bread; damn Joe, knowing her weakness like that. If he and Harry ever teamed up, she was doomed. "Iain Lewis is a prat –"

"An unemployed prat," Joe replied cheerfully. "His show is cancelled as of this morning – nothing to do with me, of course. Silly bugger probably didn't see it coming, but it was getting dreadful ratings and not even the tit shots were bringing things up."

Ruth sipped her coffee. "Yes, well… I'm a bit of a silly bugger, too, because I went along with him, didn't I? I knew better and yet…"

"Did you care about him?"

She didn't even hesitate. "No."

"Then sod him," Joe replied. "He's a prick without balls – he's done what he can to hurt you because you wounded his pride, didn't you? But regardless… Janet, I need you to come on board with me. Help me drag the network out of the dark ages, will you?"

"What kind of a position are we talking about?" Ruth asked.

"President of Public Relations and Internal Communications," he said. "You'll get a 5% profit share – mine is 8% - and an annual salary of $2.4 million, plus use of a private jet to hop from office to office. Six weeks of vacation, and the equivalent of two weeks' sick/personal leave per year, paid out at normal rate." Joe looked at her imploringly. "Please?"

"Where would I be based?" she asked.

"The main office is here, obviously, but you'll have to make trips to the satellite offices from time to time – London, Paris, Berlin, New York, Sydney, Tokyo, and we're about to break ground on a station in Olso. I'd like to say you could be based out of any of the offices, but you'd be of most use here in Los Angeles."

Ruth nodded. "Of course, because here is where the drama happens. If it's not reporters, it's on-air talent." She took a deep breath and sighed. "Let me think about it – I'll have to discuss it with Harry, see what he wants me to do."

"Your Harry isn't exactly a paragon of virtue," Joe said, taking a cautious bite of his fry bread. "You know he worked for MI-5, right?"

Ruth frowned for a moment, wondering briefly how Joe knew that. "Yes," she finally said, sighing. "Yes, I know."

"How do you know?"

"I worked for GCHQ once, and was seconded to MI-5 for a few things," Ruth said, trying for a modicum of truth shrouded in an elaborate lie. "Harry and I were… well-suited, and we got on well. Too well. We were forced apart and I left Britain because it was made very clear that my kind of 'distraction' was not needed." She shrugged. "I didn't find out I was pregnant with Portia till after I was in the States. By then, it was too late to do anything but mourn what could have been. But Harry's back, now, and neither of us is going to give up on our relationship. Not when there's Portia to consider." She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "And if you use that against me, I'll make it so you'll never get in Cate's good books."

"You're really going to marry him?"

She smiled and nodded. "I am. I'll be Lady Janet Pearce, and… and I'll give you the respectability your network needs behind the scenes to pull up its pants and kick it out into the open." She exhaled, then said, "Why don't you bring the kids – and the contract – round tonight? I'm game if you are."

He whooped excitedly and gave her a hug across the table. "I'm pleased!" Joe cried. "Very, very pleased –"

"Yes, well, I owe you, don't I?" she teased gently. "Not many people would have taken in strangers who'd lost everything."

"I almost didn't," he admitted. "But I heard my Gran in the back of my head, yelling about what a horrible tosser I'd be if I didn't at least try to help you."

"You're still a twat," she pointed out fondly. "But I think you're a lovely twat, Joe. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means –"

"Yeah, yeah, just show up on time and leave on time, and we'll call it even."

* * *

><p>Harry looked up from the television when Ruth came in. "Hello – where is everyone?" she called.<p>

"We're in here!" Gracie cried.

They were on their second episode of _My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic_, and Harry could feel his brain beginning to melt out of his ears. He was rather glad of an excuse to escape. He got up and went to meet her in the hallway, unsurprised to see the smile on her lips. "So it went well, I take it?" Harry asked, giving her a kiss.

"You could say that," Ruth replied. She was almost bouncing with excitement, and he felt giddy just watching her. "I've got a job. A much better job than the last one. At iNBC, in PR and Internal Communications." She squeezed his hand and grinned at him. "Harry, I'm going to be the bloody President of PR and IC."

"Really?" he asked, smiling. "That's good – when do you start?"

"Joe's coming for supper and bringing his kids along," Ruth said. "I'll sign the contract tonight, he'll announce it tomorrow, and I'll start on Monday. It's a bloody good job, good pay, good benefits, possibility of a bonus and profit sharing, 401K and pension plan… the whole nine yards."

"Good," he said softly, leaning in to kiss her. "Now you won't have to worry about where the next house payment comes from. And, for the record, you're so beautiful when you're excited about something. I'm proud of you, Ruth."

She gave him another kiss and murmured, "Let's get married before you go back to London, Harry. Let's make it official. I want to be stuck in together. Please say we can. We can fly up to Las Vegas and do it right quickly –"

"But then I'll lose the chance to ask Her Majesty for permission," he teased. When the look on her face turned sour, he amended, "I would marry you five minutes from now, if we were able, my love. Honestly, it's just a piece of paper that says we belong to each other, but we feel it in our hearts, don't we? Haven't we always belonged to one another?"

Her lips twitched up into a smile, and she said, "Harry, I love you. And we're going to Las Vegas on Friday morning and on Friday evening, we're going to be Sir Harry and Lady Janet Pearce. Got it?"

"Oh, I've certainly got it," he replied with a grin on his lips. "Just as you've got the family trousers, m'lady."

END PART NINE


	10. Chapter 10

Kind of an interlude chapter before the real ball gets rolling. :)

* * *

><p>Ten:<br>Moving Quickly

Harry watched Ruth finishing up her nightly bedtime routine and smiled a little. How familiar the small habits were even after only a few days together. She loved a lotion that smelled of tangerines and sugar, same as she had before; it was still one of the few things the same as when they'd been 'dating' before.

"The next few weeks will be complicated," she said quietly. "With starting a new job, traveling from office to office, and getting Portia back into school. I'm going to be in New York when you have to go back to London – I don't know how we're going to manage to take care of her, Harry. I can't just drag Portia around with me, and it's not fair to ask Catherine to take her for two weeks while I go traipsing around the world…"

"Portia can come with me," Harry said, pulling the covers up a bit more over his waist. "And, since you'll be traveling from office to office, and we'll be in London anyway, we can meet up. You can stay at mine, and then you can head on and Portia and I will come back and get all of her things for school." He paused, keenly aware that he'd crossed a line back into 'boss' territory. "I mean, that would be the most practical way of going about things, but it would require you to place a degree of trust in my abilities to take care of our daughter."

"I… I can't ask you to –"

"Ruth," he said softly, "I will not take her and run away into the night. I am her father. You and I are getting married. It's simply the most convenient arrangement."

"Yes, but…" Ruth paused, then sighed. "I've always worried. Even when she's just next door. It's not possible for me to let go of that, Harry. I don't know that I can just… let you take her." Her hands were moving faster and faster as she nervously rubbed lotion into her skin.

Years of running and hiding had permanently scarred her emotionally, and Harry could see how hard it was for her to try to hide from him how panicked she was. He tossed the covers aside and got out of bed, taking the few steps to her side. He gently stilled her hands, holding them in his own. "My love," he said patiently, "I promise that I will allow no harm to come to our Portia, as much as it is in my power to do so. You will be able to call at any time and see how we are, to reassure yourself that all is well. And I promise, no wild parties or slumming it."

"I can't imagine you slumming," she said, laughing a little, but he could tell she was on the verge of tears. "You'll probably have her at Buck House, eating fairy cakes with the bloody Queen."

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Probably not," he murmured. "But don't you think she deserves to meet her grandmother and grandfather, at least? Your mum and my dad?"

"My mum thinks I'm dead," Ruth said, shaking her head.

"No, I told her the truth. That you were forced into exile and I had no clue where you were," Harry said softly. "We mourned you together in public and hoped in private that you were still alive."

"You'll take her… to meet my mum?" Ruth asked quietly.

"Of course," Harry said, nodding. "And we can meet with Elizabeth somewhere private so you can see her, as well. I think she'd like that more than you can possibly know, Ruth." He stroked her cheek very gently. "Will you trust me enough to watch out for our daughter?"

She hesitated, then whispered, "Yes."

"Good," he said with a smile. "Now, I've got to remember that she's never had Marmite and that I shouldn't let her near Sarah at the breakfast table, or she's likely to get a mouthful."

"No, best stick to jam," Ruth advised. "Can you cope with a ten year old on a flight that long?"

"Love, I've faced down the Prime Minister and not blinked. I believe I can handle a slip of a girl for a few days by myself."

"Right," Ruth said quietly. "Good thing I'll only be a phonecall away, then."

Harry paused. "Yes, it is a good thing," he agreed. "And Skype is a lovely technology, when one wants to be a bit naughty with so much space between…"

"Harry," she scolded softly, "not everything is about sex."

He smiled a little. She had no idea, did she? "No," he agreed, "it's not."

She gave him a light kiss and murmured, "We should get some sleep. I've got to go to Cartier tomorrow and see about jewelry –"

"Oh, funny you should mention jewelry," he said. "Hold that thought."

"Harry, you didn't…"

He rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing to the dresser and retrieving the jewelry bag. "I saw these earrings and thought you might fancy them," he said softly, presenting her with the box. "No pressure, but you might care to wear them Sunday."

Ruth opened the box and gasped. "Harry!" She held up one of the cascading intricate diamond and platinum earrings and looked in the mirror. "Oh my god, seriously?"

"Very seriously, m'lady," he said softly. "It would please my greatly if my lady wife would wear her finery on Sunday evening. They'll land you on the best jewels list at least."

"What else have you in that bag of yours?" Ruth asked, pushing past him before he could stop her. Once her hand was in the bag, all bets were off, and he didn't even bother trying. She came up with his wedding band, first – a simple circlet of thin, brushed titanium. It was a far cry from the horrid gold bands that Jane had insisted on, and he was proud that he'd come far enough in life to afford the best. And then she was opening her wedding band, and staring at it in silence. "You… you can't be serious," she whispered.

"Only the best for you, Ruth," he murmured.

Ruth pulled the ring out and placed it on her finger, her eyes lighting up in a mix of wonder and shock as the seven carats of emerald cut diamonds sparkled away on her finger like they belonged there. And they did – so much so. The ring was a promise that he would love her and care for her, and in the end, if there was nothing else to hock, she would always have that damned ring.

"I love you, and cherish you, and I want you to know how much every day when you see your rings," Harry said quietly. "I never want you to feel as though I'm taking you for granted, Ruth. Not anymore. Maybe in the past, but… eleven years apart, and I'm a different man."

"You are," she agreed. "But you're still my Harry." She was still admiring the ring. "You're… you're… god, you're something else, Harry Pearce."

"And you are my everything," he said gently.

* * *

><p>If Los Angeles in July was sweltering, Las Vegas was positively like the fires of Hell unleashed. By the time they got to the hotel, despite the air conditioning, and it only being a fifteen minute drive, they were both uncomfortably sweaty – and it was only ten in the morning. God only knew how bedraggled they would look at three when they were married in the hotel's chapel.<p>

Ruth was nervous, sick to her stomach, but she refused to let Harry see that. She wanted him to think her calm, cool, collected, the perfect Lady Pearce to be on his arm forever more. She didn't want him to think that she was a nervous flake like she'd been when they'd first met.

He got them checked in and said, "Love, why don't we go change clothes and go for a dip in the pool? It will certainly do well to cool us down."

"God, no," Ruth sighed. "It's already entirely too hot for that – we'll burn to a crisp."

"Then what would you like to do?" he inquired.

"We should go eat, wander around, go shopping… maybe split a bottle of wine and be thankful Cate agreed to look after Portia?"

He smiled and held her hand as they waited for the elevator to take them to their suite. "I had to bribe her, you know," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yes, I had to promise to bring a tin of those rhubarb crumble sweets she enjoys from Harrods when Portia and I return," he said with a chuckle. "I'm afraid I know my children's weaknesses and will exploit them for personal gain. Though, I'm still trying to figure out how to use Portia's love of strawberry jam against her in a court of law."

Ruth gave him a kiss and leaned into his arms. "I love you."

They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon wandering from casino to casino, shopping and stopping to play a few hands of Blackjack. Lunch was at an Indian restaurant that left them both saddened by the state of Americanized curry, and about two, they went back to the hotel to get dressed for their wedding.

"Are you nervous?" Harry asked as he puttered around the bathroom in his trunks and dress shirt, trying to decide which tie he wanted to wear.

"Yes," she said very quietly, slipping into her teal wrap dress and tying it off. "But only because I'm scared you're going to come to your senses and leave me at the altar."

"Never," he said. "We've spent too many years apart for me to contemplate not having you in my life now. And in less than an hour, you'll be stuck with me."

"I can think of worse things," she murmured.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "Like being shot. Or having a heart attack like event."

"God, don't even joke!" She slipped into her heels and watched him finish getting dressed. "Harry, you need to hurry or we'll be late."

The service itself was simple and brief, but once it was over, there was no doubt in anyone's mind at all that Sir Harry and Lady Janet Pearce were the happiest newlywed couple of the day. It was plain to see in the way they adored one another.

This time, the tub was definitely big enough for two.

Ruth began to contemplate bathroom renovations at home.

Harry was just chuffed that he'd finally bagged the girl!

* * *

><p>"Yay, you're home!" Portia squealed excitedly when they stepped through into Catherine's living room. She all but flung herself at her parents, laughing and all smiles. "Are you married now? Does that mean mom and I get to go to London with you, dad?"<p>

"Maybe," Harry said, giving her a big hug. "Did you behave for Cate?"

"I did," Portia replied.

"Good – I'm glad," he said. "Now, I'd like to hear what you all did while we were gone."

"We played video games," Charlie said. "We're really good at MarioKart, grandpa."

Portia released Harry and wrapped her arms around Ruth. "I missed you, mommy," she whispered.

"I missed you, too, love," Ruth said softly. "Now, how about we go home and decide what to have for dinner?"

"Can we have spaghetti?" Portia asked hopefully.

"Can we come over if you have spaghetti, Janet?" Gracie asked.

"I don't see why not, if it's okay with your mum," Ruth replied.

"Are you our granny now?" Charlie asked. "I mean, should we call you granny?"

"Only if you want to," Ruth said gently. "If you want to call me Janet, that's okay, too – I don't want you to be pressured one way or the other."

"Okay," Charlie said. "Can we have spaghetti at Janet's house, mom?"

Catherine smiled. "Sure… if it's okay with your grandpa and Janet."

"Absolutely," Harry said. "We should have a lovely family dinner tonight…"

"And slurp lots of noodles!" Gracie giggled.

"Grandpa slurps his noodles the best," Charlie said.

"Harry!" Ruth scolded.

"Only Japanese noodles," he sighed. "It's a sign of good manners."

"Let's go home and start dinner," Ruth said. "And then we can tell Portia about our plans next week."

"What plans?" Portia asked.

"Never you mind till we get home," Harry said gruffly, but with affection in his tone. "Let's go, little miss."

"Can I get a piggyback ride?" Portia asked.

Harry sighed, but acquiesced, allowing his petite princess up onto his back. "All right, homeward bound," he said, already out of breath. "I'm too old for this."

Ruth was too busy taking a picture of her two favorite people in all the world, and grinning at the infectious smiles on their lips and the happiness in their eyes as they adjourned home.

END PART TEN


	11. Chapter 11

Eleven:  
>A Bit of a Backfire<p>

"Oh, mom, you look so pretty!" Portia exclaimed excitedly.

Harry was putting on his suit jacket when Ruth came into the living room, and he glanced up, a smile twitching at his lips. "You do look a treat," he said with a smile. _A treat _was probably not the adjective description that Ruth wanted – her hair was down and curled, a few studded hairpins glittering here and there. Her gown was simply, but masterfully, made; a lovely shade of green silk that caressed her body and held fast and tight in all the right places. Her only jewelry was what he'd given her – dangling earrings made of diamonds and platinum, cascading almost to her bare shoulders, and her engagement and wedding rings. She held a black clutch in her hand, and a smile was on her lips.

"I'm glad you approve, Harry," Ruth said with a smile, "but this little show isn't for you – and you look rather smart. Catherine will be pleased." She proceeded to ignore him completely, giving the list of emergency numbers and instructions to the baby-sitter.

The doorbell rang, and Ruth said, "You'd better go get Catherine – that will be Joe's driver, waiting to take us."

Harry hurried to open the door and smiled at Joe. "Joe, welcome – we're just putting on the last minute things and I'm going to gather Catherine from next door," he greeted, stepping out onto the porch.

Ten minutes later, they were all settled in the back of the limo, and Joe was offering everyone champagne. "Seems we've got the wrong dates tonight," Joe teased, "seeing as how Sir Harry and Janet can't keep their eyes off one another."

"They've been all moony since they got back from Vegas yesterday," Catherine said with a chuckle. "I don't even want to know what kind of things they got up to last night behind closed doors."

"We read for a bit and went to bed," Harry said, giving his daughter a disapproving glare. "You have a dirty mind like your mother's, young lady."

Ruth laughed and held up her left hand to show Joe her rings. "We flew to Las Vegas to get married," she confessed softly. "Because there's no sense in waiting forever – when forever will never come."

"Congratulations!" Joe exclaimed. "You might have warned me, though, so I might think of you as Lady Pearce instead of Janet Williams, though – I'll be struggling with it all night whenever those bloody reporters ask."

Catherine laughed. "Whereas, all I have to do is say, 'Oh, hey, this is my dad!' and they'll all get bored."

Harry glanced over at her. "I'm not sure about that, seeing as how I was on the cover of several gossip rags in my dressing gown a few days ago. I'm afraid I've become rather infamous."

"You're only infamous because I'm embroiled in scandal," Ruth pointed out with a sad smile.

"Sod your bloody scandal," Harry replied, holding her hand and squeezing it. He was pleased as punch, to be honest, at the thought that he might get to retaliate in Iain Lewis's direction at some point in the evening's festivities. Only it would be an exchange of words; one that might just end in, 'You'd better leave my wife alone or I'll wring your bloody neck.'

"Harry…"

"No, he's right," Joe said. "You being set up as that prick's fall guy has made your life change for the better. Tell anyone who says otherwise to go fuck themselves. You are an incredibly strong woman, Janet, and I know this better than anyone…"

"Not better than Harry," Ruth contradicted softly, squeezing his hand.

Catherine interjected, "No one is debating the point of whether or not my dad knows better than anyone else – just… Joe is right. And I'm not saying that because I want to suck up to the man who's going to bankroll my next series or anything."

Joe laughed and said, "Now, that was a scandalous proposal, Cate… What makes you think your show's going off-air any time soon?"

"It's not," Catherine said, "but I'm going to take a less active role in the day-to-day of things because one of my mates from uni wants me to help her create a scripted comedy in Britain, and I'd like to think I could. She's already got iNBC chomping at the bit to fund her, so… it wasn't exactly ironic."

"Wait, you're working with Jen Fischer?"

"Yeah, right now, we're Skyping about character proposals, but I think I'm going to have to make a trip to Edinburgh soon to see her," Catherine replied.

"Hollywood really is just an incestual hotbed," Harry commented.

"It is," Ruth agreed. "By the way, you never told me how you know Joe."

Joe glanced over and said, "My ex-wife got shirty about not getting anything in the divorce and hired a hit-man to take me and the kids out. Sir Harry, here, and his team of ragamuffins, saved my skin."

Harry glanced over at Ruth and sighed. "Yes," he acknowledged. "Ros Myers took a bullet for him, and was rather pissed off about it." Ruth nodded, and began to say something, but Harry cut her off. "It was only a few weeks before she died trying to save the Home Secretary." Ruth fell silent and he could see the regret and tears in her eyes. "But anyway – I supervised the operation and had a hand in protecting Billy and Maisie from their mother. It was quite satisfactory."

"Maisie had him wrapped round her tiny baby fingers," Joe said, making Catherine laugh. "She remembers him, and asks about him."

"Well, then, we should get them back together again," Ruth said with a small smile.

"I'm good with babies," Harry said, "but not so much when they get big enough to talk and have opinions."

"You're good with Charlie and Gracie," Catherine pointed out.

"They're my grandchildren," Harry replied. "They're meant to be spoiled and coddled and sent home to mum."

"You're good with Portia," Ruth murmured.

"That will wear off in time," he sighed. "One day, she'll hate me as much as Catherine did when she was a teenager."

"I was a bad kid," Catherine said. "And you were never home. It'll be different for her."

The limo finally pulled to a stop, but idled. "And now, we bloody wait," Joe said. "I wouldn't even have come if it hadn't been for this stupid lifetime achievement award they're lobbing at me."

"My show might actually win," Catherine said. "It might be nice to get up and accept an award for once."

"I hope it does," Joe said. "Because then I can buy you a celebratory drink."

Catherine hesitated a moment, then blew him off with, "I think all the things are complimentary at the Governor's Ball."

Harry wanted to sigh and shake his daughter, but that might be slightly excessive. Either way, the limo was moving again and within a few minutes, they were exiting the car and getting straight onto the red carpet. He'd been on several of these horse and pony displays in his lifetime – the most recent being at the Queen's Gala celebrating Prince George's first birthday – but this was probably the worst of them all. It was cramped, there were cameras and reporters everywhere with microphones and he hated every moment of it.

Catherine was talking to some reporter with a ghastly shade of lavender hair and a yellow dress that clashed spectacularly, and she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over. "And I've brought my father along tonight as my plus one," Catherine said. "Maybe even my good luck charm, seeing as how he's had quite a good run of luck lately."

He smiled just a bit and said, "I have, in fact…"

The reporter thrust her microphone in his face and said, "Tell us about it!"

* * *

><p>Ruth felt oddly, then she realized why. She and Joe had moved away from the worst of the crowd to have a short, candid conversation with the reporter from CNN, but upon turning, she found herself face to face with Iain Lewis. She didn't say a word, just took a step away from him.<p>

"You cost me my job," Iain said, his voice low and angry.

"I did no such thing," Ruth said, her voice equally hushed. "I've been out of the loop for days – who do you think I called to force your show into shutdown?"

"Your little friend Joe there?"

She took a step forward, eyes blazing. "Your show was cancelled because it was a hot mess," she hissed. "Do not even dare to insinuate that I care enough about you to wish you ill. I don't care about you at all. I am entirely apathetic about you, now that you're out of my life. So bugger off and find another job. I'm sure you'll get one in no time. Just leave me alone."

He grabbed her upper arm and said, "You don't get it –"

"Let me go," Ruth said very quietly, "or I won't be held responsible for what's going to happen in about thirty seconds when Harry realizes what you're doing."

"Your little boyfriend doesn't scare me."

"Oh, really? Do I frighten you, then? Because I should." She struggled in his grasp, then stopped. "You have screwed the pooch this time, Iain. Let me go now."

"Let go of my wife or I'm going to make a scene that makes Shakespeare look a treat in comparison," Harry growled. "I'll file a restraining order against you, and I'll see to it that you'll never work in Britain… or the States… again. In fact, Cuba is looking nice this time of year… and it's not difficult to make someone look like a terrorist in America."

"Are you threatening me, old man?" Iain shot back.

"No, I don't make idle threats," Harry said. "Release my wife and I will allow you to walk away with your tail between your legs. Otherwise, there are so many, many things that might happen."

"Harry, don't," Ruth said very quietly, not liking the malice in his eye or the way his face was flushed bright, angry red. "He's not worth it. Iain, let me go."

Iain finally released his grasp of her arm, and she rubbed the bruising, giving Joe and Harry a look that communicated that she was all right.

"Now," Ruth said, turning back toward her former lover, "if you ever touch me again, if you ever come within five feet of me, I will not hesitate to ruin you. Your actions just now have already blackballed you from working with iNBC in any capacity; and that's where you've made your choice, Iain. I'm the new head of PR, and all it will take is a few words to the competition about the way you treat people, and you'll find yourself out of work permanently. I would caution you to listen very well and leave me alone. This is the only time I'm going to say that again."

He met her unwavering gaze with hatred and anger. One step closer to her, and Joe stopped him. "Don't," Joe advised coldly. "I'm not nearly as kind as Janet is – I'll cold-cock you. And Harry here? He's retired Security Services, mate. I wouldn't fuck with him – he's a bit scary when he gets pissed off."

Iain shook his head and walked away, leaving Ruth to exhale weakly, glad that they were away from the reporters when it had happened. Harry immediately came over and supported her, checking her over, wincing and growling in anger when he saw the bruises on her upper arm. "Are you –"

"I'm fine," Ruth choked out. "Fine."

Catherine put her phone into her clutch and said, "I've got most of it on video, if you need to release it."

"My love?" Harry said very softly. Ruth was shaking with a mixture of anxiety and relief, and she stifled a sob. "Love, please talk to me –"

"I didn't think he'd try something here," she confessed. "God, why was I so stupid?"

"He's not going to do anything," Joe assured her. "Not now. Not when we can get a restraining order filed first thing tomorrow. He's lost and he knows it. Just keep your head up and keep going, Jan."

Ruth swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay."

Catherine looped her arm through Ruth's and said, "Come on, mum, we'd better get to our seats."

"God, please don't call me that," Ruth protested.

Catherine grinned at her. "No big deal, just a term of endearment… mum."

* * *

><p>In the end, they all wound up at the Governor's Ball, then the Vanity Fair party, and the iNBC blowout. By the time they got home, the sun was coming up and Ruth and Catherine, at least, were more than slightly drunk and giddy. Harry gave Joe a suffering look and said, "Why do we put up with this?"<p>

"Because they're pretty," Joe replied with a wry smile.

"You think I'm pretty?" Catherine said. "Oh, that's so sweet – Jan, he thinks I'm pretty…"

"He thinks a lot more than that," Ruth said, giggling a bit. "He wants to –"

"Okay, you're getting into dark territory, love," Harry warned. "Hush."

"You want to come in?" Catherine asked Joe.

"I'd… I would love to, Cate, but I need to go home and check on my children," Joe said gently. "And you need to get some rest. Don't you go back to work in a few days?"

"Ugh," Catherine sighed. "Spoilsport. I was going to make sure the girls had breakfast and then I was going to take you to bed and make sure you got some good rest."

Harry stifled a groan. "Catherine –"

"And that's exactly why I'm going home," Joe said. "Because you'll regret everything when you're not hungover. But we can have dinner. Call me."

Catherine huffed and stormed off. She turned around and flashed him the 'v' and turned back around, promptly falling on her face. She struggled to get up, then snapped, "I'm fine." She kept going until she'd disappeared inside her house.

"You think she'll call?" Joe asked rhetorically.

"I think she's going to feel like a right twat for a couple of days," Harry said.

"I think she's lonely," Ruth said with a sad sigh, leaning against Harry. "Come on, Harry, let's go inside and you can make some eggs and toast."

"Why me?" he asked.

"Because I'm rubbish at it and I'm about to fall over."

Harry chuckled. "Ah, yes… Joe, thank you for a very… enlightening… experience. I'm not certain I'll be allowing myself the dubious honor of attending such a soiree again at any point in time soon."

Joe laughed and saluted Harry. "When she wakes up from her drunken slumber, have her call me – I'll see her in the office first thing tomorrow."

"Come on," Harry said, gently guiding Ruth inside. "Let's get you your eggs and toast and get you to bed."

"I don't want eggs and toast," Ruth whined. "I want you."

"Not when you're drunk enough that I could light a match and send the whole house up," Harry warned. "I won't take advantage of you in this condition."

"It's not taking advantage if I want it," she replied stubbornly.

"When you wake up later," Harry said, "we can make love. But not right now. You're going to have eggs and toast and kiss Portia good morning – and then you're going to bed."

She pouted. "Yes, well –"

"Don't," he said softly, propelling her into the kitchen. "Breakfast, and then bed."

"How are you not drunk?" she whined.

"I've got more body mass than you do," he said. "It helps. And, also, I didn't down an entire bottle of wine after six cocktails and god only knows how much champagne."

"Mmm, there is that," she sighed, sitting down at the table. After a minute, she laid her head down and watched him as he went round, gathering things. He glanced over at her when she said, "Has anyone told you how sexy you are?"

"Not recently," he said.

"Well, you are," Ruth murmured. "You are very, very sexy, Harry Pearce."

He smiled a bit and cracked two eggs into the skillet. "That's the wine talking, love."

Ruth sighed. "I used to pretend that Iain was you," she admitted. "I'd've never gotten off if I hadn't. I drink too much, I'm entirely too… whatever. I can't believe you still want me."

"I've always wanted you," Harry said, his voice low. The admission was a slippery slope; he hoped that her memory would be a bit impaired by the amount of drink that she'd imbibed, so that they wouldn't have to repeat this humiliating conversation again.

"Oh," she whispered. "Really?"

"Really."

"So when I had that silly crush on… on…"

"Yes."

"You were really very cross?"

"I was." The toast sprang up and he laid it out on a plate. The eggs followed. "Now, eat up. I'm going to go check on Portia and the sitter."

Harry left Ruth to eat her breakfast, and followed the noises into the living room, where Portia and the baby-sitter were watching cartoons. "Hello," he said.

"Dad!" Portia cried, the television forgotten. "I'm glad you're home!"

"I'm glad to be home," he said with a chuckle, hugging her. "I missed you, too."

"Where's mom?"

"She's eating some breakfast," he said. "She had a little bit too much to drink, so she's going to be going to bed soon. But that means that you and I can go get Charlie and Gracie and go do something."

Portia smiled and nodded. "Good!"

Harry smiled down at her. "Now, I've got to pay the baby-sitter and then we'll decide what we're going to do."

"Okay, dad," Portia said, releasing him and jumping back onto the couch.

Harry settled the bill with the sitter in cash, then saw her out. After that, he checked on Portia again – still watching her show – and then headed to the kitchen. Ruth had finished her breakfast, but was asleep on the table in a very uncomfortable-looking position.

He gently roused her and whispered, "You're going to be miserable if you sleep at the table, Ruth."

She whimpered and put her arms around him, getting up as he helped her. "I love you," she mumbled.

"I love you, too," he murmured. "Come to bed, love. Get some rest. You've had a long night."

She yawned and mumbled, "Portia?"

"Don't worry," he whispered. "You just get some sleep." He helped her into bed and tucked her in. "No more drinking like a fish, love."

"No more," she agreed as she drifted back to sleep.

END PART ELEVEN


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve:  
>Bumps in the Road<p>

Portia mumbled in her sleep and snuggled up closer to Harry. They had been in the air for a damn sight too long. First had been the almost seven hour flight from Los Angeles to Atlanta, then an overnight layover, and now, they were about an hour from Heathrow. The poor girl was absolutely exhausted, and she didn't want to eat anything on the plane – so he was glad he'd made her eat a big breakfast before they'd boarded.

He'd sent Ruth several emails, talking about how well Portia was behaving – purposefully not telling her about the almost tantrum-like refusal of food. There was no need to make her worry when, as soon as they were on the ground, she would likely be begging for dinner. He'd already emailed Malcolm and told him that they would likely need to stop off somewhere along the way for a bite.

He would never tell Ruth, but behind the bravado of accepting Portia as his and acting accordingly, he was absolutely terrified that he was going to do something wrong and screw the little girl up like he had Catherine and Graham. Which was why, when she'd refused the food, he'd gone into full-on worried father mode. Eventually, he'd realized that she was just nervous of eating things on planes because she got motion sickness sometimes, and had relaxed.

"Attention, passengers, we're beginning our final descent into Heathrow – please check your seatbelts and ensure that all seatbacks and tray tables are in their upright and locked positions," the pilot announced. "At this time, all electronic devices must be turned off for landing."

Harry immediately powered down his tablet, wishing that they would stop lying to the people about electronic interference. He was one of the few people who knew exactly why devices were powered down – and it had nothing to do with that. He gently nudged Portia. "Portia, love, wake up," he murmured. "We're almost there."

Portia stirred sleepily, then jerked awake. "Are we there?" she mumbled.

"Almost – do you want to watch out the window?"

"Yes, please," she said sleepily.

By the time they'd landed, she was asleep again. "Sweetheart, you'd better wake up," Harry warned, "because I'm not strong enough to carry you to the car."

"I'm 'wake," she said, getting her bag from her father's grasp. They were very nearly the last ones on the plane, since it had taken so much time to wake her up. As they deplaned, she hugged one of the flight attendants – the one that had snuck her some chocolate buttons – and said thank you.

"You and your grandpa have fun," the stewardess said cheerfully.

Harry glowered at her. "I'm her father," he said in a firm but droll tone. "Come, now, Portia, we must go get our bags and go through Passport Control, then we can meet Malcolm and get you some dinner."

"Can I get a hamburger?" Portia asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of fish and chips –"

"Why would anybody eat _chips_ with _fish_?" Portia asked, clearly horrified.

"Chips are what you call fries, love," Harry said gently. "So it's fried fish and French fries – and usually mushy peas."

"Peas aren't supposed to be mushy unless they're baby food," Portia said. "Dad, I don't think I'm going to like it here."

Harry sighed. "Portia, can you do me one favor?" She nodded. "Will you try the food before you ask me to swing round McDonald's, please? I think you'll enjoy it, and if you don't, we'll stop for a burger."

"Okay," she said very quietly.

"Your mum enjoys a good fish and chip," he said. "We went once, together, to a little chippy near her house. We weren't seeing one another at the time, just… just work. But it was lovely."

"I miss mom," Portia whispered. "How soon till she comes?"

"I'm afraid she won't be here until next Friday, love."

"Oh. Can I call her?"

"When we get to the car," Harry promised.

Portia sighed and leaned into him, smothering a yawn.

* * *

><p>Malcolm was waiting for them when they got through Passport Control. "Harry, good to see you so well-rested!" he exclaimed, shaking Harry's hand.<p>

Harry glanced around, noticing that his shadow wasn't with him. "Portia?" he cried. "Po-"

"Sorry, daddy, I couldn't keep up with you," Portia exhaled, catching up and peering shyly around him at Malcolm.

Malcolm looked at the little girl, then at Harry, with some confusion. "Who's this, then?" he asked.

"Malcolm, this is my daughter, Portia," Harry said gently. "Portia, this is Malcolm – he's a good friend of mine… and of your mum's, as well."

Upon being told that, Portia looked up at him skeptically. "Mom doesn't have friends except for Joe and Cate," she said.

"Uh, Harry, who is her mum?" Malcolm inquired.

"Our mutual friend who went traveling," Harry said. "She was carrying a very sensitive package with her," he added.

Melcolm's eyes widened with delight. "You found her? How? Did you – is she – is she all right?"

"Yes, Janet is quite all right," Harry said pointedly. "I'll tell you more after we get home. Portia, love, Malcolm worked with your mum and me. He's a good man –"

Portia looked Malcolm up and down, then said, "Can I call my mom in the car, Mr. Malcolm?"

"Of course, Portia," Malcolm said with a smile. "I'm sure your mum would love to hear from you after your long day traveling."

"Come on, love," Harry said gently. "Let's go." Portia nodded and looked up at him questioningly. "What, sweetheart?"

"Does mom know Mr. Malcolm is picking us up?" she asked.

"No, that's a surprise you can tell her," Harry said with a smile. "It will surprise her even more if you call him Uncle Malcolm."

"That would surprise me, as well," Malcolm commented wryly.

"Were you surprised when you met me the first time, dad?" Portia asked.

"No, I wasn't," Harry said, "because I didn't know who you were. I just thought that you seemed to be a very sad little girl."

"I was sad because I didn't have a dad, but I've got one now, so I'm happy," she said, squeezing his hand.

Malcolm took this in with interest. "You didn't know, then?"

Harry shook his head and said, "Not in front of Portia, Malcolm. Little ears, big mouths."

"Daddy, Uncle Malcolm, I'm _hungry_," Portia whined.

"Then you'd better walk faster," Harry said gently, "because neither of us can carry you, love. We're hurrying as fast as we can." He didn't add that he was carrying half their luggage and Malcolm was encumbered with the other half; Portia didn't really understand that getting older meant you got weaker and slower.

Nearly half an hour later, they were all tucked away in Malcolm's car and headed to a chip shop to get some food. Portia nodded off in the car again, lulled by the traffic and the motion of the car. Malcolm took this as his chance. "Did you know she was pregnant when she left, Harry?" he asked, glancing at Harry in the back seat. (They'd both agreed to putting Portia in the front because of her motion sickness.)

"No," Harry sighed. "I never would have allowed her to go had I known."

"How did you find her?"

"I didn't, really – I went to visit Catherine and the girls, and it turned out that she lives next door," Harry said with a sigh. "Of all the stupid, coincidental things… she's Catherine's bloody best friend. She held Catherine and the girls through all the bullshit when Stephen died. I had no idea, Malcolm. No clue." He exhaled and said, "I wanted to be angry with her, but I can't be. I love her too much. And it's pointless, now, anyway – we're wedded and bedded and we've got Portia to look after."

"You weren't even gone for two full weeks," Malcolm said.

"Not wasting any more time," Harry replied quietly, looking out the window. "She had ovarian cancer, last year, same time Stephen was dying from bone cancer. She's clear; he died. How is that fair, Malcolm? Any of it."

"Life isn't fair," Malcolm said. "You and I know that better than most, I think." He pulled into a car park and said, "Okay, fish and chips, as requested."

Portia jerked awake. "Dad!"

"Careful, love," Harry soothed gently. "I'm right here."

"Where are we?" she asked, looking around.

"We're at a chip shop just down the road from home," Harry said. "Are you still hungry?"

She nodded and yawned. "I didn't call mom –"

"I think your mom will forgive you not calling till after supper," he said with a smile. "I'm meant to be looking after you, remember? That means eating, too."

As it turned out, his fears about her not eating were demolished as quickly as her portion of fish and chips was. She even liked the peas! Harry was incredibly relieved, and Malcolm just watched them both interacting with interest.

"She's very like you," Malcolm commented at one point.

Harry shrugged. "Then I must be like my mum, because Portia reminds me of her."

Portia finished her supper and said, "Dad, can I call mom now?"

Harry pulled out his phone and held it up. "Will you be careful with my phone?" he asked.

She nodded and said, "I just want to call mom and tell her I love her and I miss her so much."

He placed the call, then waited patiently.

"Janet Pearce," came the firm answer.

"Hello, my love," Harry said. "Are you free?"

"No, but – you're all right? You and Portia?" Ruth asked softly.

"Yes, we've landed and our daughter's had her first taste of haute British cuisine –"

"Oh, god, I miss fish and chips so badly," Ruth sighed. "But not as much as I miss the two of you – can I talk to her? Please?"

Harry smiled and passed the phone to Portia. "Your mum wants to talk to you, too," he said.

"Mom, oh my gosh, we flew over the ocean!" Portia began. What ensued was lively, excited chattering back and forth.

Malcolm leaned over and said, "Harry, when will she be coming?"

"Soon," Harry said quietly. "She's traveling between offices as part of her new job. She'll be in London soon, and then will go to Paris and Berlin afterward. She's going to Sydney from New York in the morning."

"What kind of work is she doing?"

"Nothing to do with our old jobs," Harry said cautiously. "She works for a television network."

"That doesn't much sound like the R-Janet… the Janet we know."

Harry shook his head. "She's had more than her share of difficulty, Malcolm. Both in outrunning Mace and in raising Portia alone. I can't fault her for taking what was offered." He paused. "At least she's working for a decent person – remember Joe Gregory?"

"Bloody hell, she works for him? Good on her!" Malcolm cried.

"Mom, guess who picked us up at the airport? You'll never guess," Portia said. "It's your friend Malcolm!" Portia paused, then handed the phone back to Harry. "She wants to talk to you, dad. I think you're in trouble."

Harry sighed and took the phone. "Hello," he said in a cautious tone.

"What have you told him?" Ruth demanded. "How much does he know?"

"He won't betray the confidence," Harry said firmly. "You let me handle things here and you handle yourself. All right?"

"No – no, it's not all right and you will not stonewall my concerns, Harry," she snapped. "How dare you just out me to him? Is he still at… you know?"

"Retired," Harry said.

"It's not all right," she repeated. "If something happens to Portia because someone opens their bloody big mouth, I will never forgive you – not _**ever**_. Do you understand me, Harry Pearce? Do you bloody understand me?"

"Nothing is going to happen," Harry said, his voice low and, despite himself, full of anger. "So calm your bloody tits already."

"Don't speak to me like that," she hissed.

He grunted and said, "Fine. I'm going to take our daughter home and feed her chocolate buttons until she throws up. Does that make you happy?" He hung up and scowled at the phone. "Bloody woman."

Portia was looking at him with tears in her eyes. "Are you in big trouble, dad? Is mom going to come and take me away?"

"No," Harry said, taking a deep breath and trying to reassure himself that Ruth was only reacting badly because she'd been blindsided. Once she'd had a chance to think about it, everything would right itself again, but until then, she was likely to be hostile. "No, she's not going to come and take you away," he promised. "She's just cross I didn't tell her that Malcolm would be picking us up."

Portia sniffled and said, "I didn't mean to get you in trouble, daddy –"

"No, don't blame yourself," Harry sighed. "Come on – let's get you home and into a hot bath and off to bed, okay? It's been a really long day, hasn't it?"

"I don't want mom to be mad at you because of me," Portia said, frowning.

"You don't even worry about it," Harry said. "Come on. Ready, Malcolm?"

Another five minutes and they were lugging luggage into the townhouse. It was lovely, in a good neighborhood – expensive, posh – and Portia's eyes lit up. "You live here?" she asked.

"I do," Harry said with a smile, glad that someone was impressed at least. "It was my grandparents' house here in London, when my grandmum served at Court and my grandfather was working in the House of Lords."

"I don't know what that means," Portia said. "Is it important?"

Harry smiled and gave her a kiss before he set the bags down. "Yes, it rather is," he said softly. "My father is an Earl; when he dies, I'll be saddled with all of that baggage. And when I die, your bloody brother will get it all – nosy bugger that he is, listening in from the doorway there." He glanced at Graham. "I see you didn't burn it down in my absence."

"I had to call in a plumber to deal with the leak in the kitchen," Graham said. "Other than that, everything's just as you left it. The dog missed you. She's out in the garden – want me to let her in?"

"You have a dog?" Portia said. "I love dogs! Mom said we couldn't have one – or a cat. Will you bring your dog to California next time, daddy?"

Graham looked at Harry, a sneer on his lips. "So… what's all this, then? Another one of your mistakes, dad?"

"Let Duchess in," Harry said firmly, "and we will discuss this later. Where is Sarah?"

"She's not home from work yet," Graham said.

"Okay, well, I'll save the story for when she gets here, so I don't have to bloody repeat myself."

Graham went to the back door and let a little smooth-haired terrier mix inside. The little dog bounded right up to Portia and began licking her eagerly. "Oh, hi," Portia giggled. "You like to give kisses – you're such a pretty puppy, aren't you?"

"Duchess, get down," Harry instructed gruffly. The dog immediately dropped to the floor and slinked over to him, looking guilty. "Good girl," he praised, crouching down and giving her some attention. "No more jumping on Portia, okay?"

Portia smiled at Graham and said, "You must be my brother – right? Graham?"

"Yes," he said. "And you are?"

"My name is Portia Williams."

"Portia, let me take you upstairs and get you settled," Harry said gently. "You can talk to Graham tomorrow, after I've spoken to him."

Portia sighed and got her backpack. "Okay," she agreed quietly. "Good night, Uncle Malcolm."

Harry took her upstairs to the guest room – it was sparing, just a single bed and a bit of a dresser – and got her tucked in and ready for bed. "You can keep the light on and read a while, if you'd like," he invited. "I love you, Portia."

"I love you, too, daddy," she said. "I'm sorry I made mommy yell at you. I am. I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't," he said. "It will be all right soon, I promise." He gave her a kiss on the forehead and retreated downstairs to face his doom.

END PART TWELVE


	13. Chapter 13

Thirteen:  
>Taking Responsibility<p>

Malcolm had poured them all a drink in Harry's absence, and Sarah had gotten home from work and was scrounging around in the kitchen, oblivious to any friction between the men. "Welcome home, Harry," she said as she came out of the fridge with some goat cheese and crumpets – which might have been all that was left. "You want a snack?"

"No," Harry said, looking around the room at Malcolm – ever so calm and collected – and Graham – whose face could have peeled paint off the walls. And he thought about the so very many ways he'd failed people. He vowed that Portia would not be one of those failures, and he exhaled a sigh. "So… I have news."

"So do I, but yours sounds much more ominous," Sarah commented, sitting down at the table.

"Not ominous, just… complicated."

Sarah smiled a little. "Well, mine is happy and simple… you're going to be a granddad again."

Harry paused, caught between glee and dismay. "Oh, congratulations, you two," he finally settled on saying. "I – I'm pleased, I am. Does this mean you'll be getting married or -?"

"Maybe," Graham said. "I thought I'd ask your approval first, but seeing as how you've gone and done god only knows what while you were on vacation…"

Harry sighed and toyed with his wedding band. "You know I approve of Sarah," he said, "and it will be an honor to add her to the family." He looked up at Sarah, and smiled. "You're too good for him, you know."

"I know," Sarah replied, "but I love him, even when he's being stupid." She nudged Graham and said, "You know that, right?"

"I do," Graham agreed, giving her a light kiss on the lips.

"Okay, so… I've gotten married," Harry said, thinking that that might be the easiest way to go about things – just plunge straight into the thick of it. "Her name is Janet Williams."

Sarah paused, her crumpet stopping midway to her mouth. "What? Did she marry you for your bloody money or what, because… wait, why didn't you tell anyone? Did you run out to see Cate and get hitched to a hooker on the side or something? What the hell, Harry?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Graham said. "The hell were you thinking, dad? You can't just – married and taking somebody's kid and calling it your own –"

"Wait, what kid?" Sarah said.

Harry sighed. "I said it was complicated."

"No one said anything about a kid," Sarah said emphatically.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," Malcolm advised Harry quietly.

"Maybe I should," Harry agreed with a sigh. "I told you about Ruth, didn't I?" he asked Graham very quietly.

"The murderer who drowned herself in the Thames that you were head over heels in love with? Yeah," Graham muttered.

Harry felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. "She worked for me," he said, "at Five, in Section D. She didn't kill herself; we staged her death to prevent something terrible happening. And then she went into exile and no one heard from her after that." He looked up at Graham and said, "I went to Los Angeles to visit your sister and found the love of my life living next door, complete with a child who was the right age and the right look to be mine. Turns out, she is. And Ruth and I are still as much in love as we were when she left. So we got married. Yes, it's messy and dirty and awful, but what's important is that I love her and I love that little girl upstairs more than I ever thought I was capable of." He exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands. "Ruth goes by the name of Janet Williams now. So she's Lady Janet Pearce."

"Oh," Sarah sighed, "how terribly, horribly romantic…"

"You're such a girl," Graham muttered. "It's very sordid, dad, you getting some random woman pregnant and not knowing –"

"She was never random," Harry said firmly. "Not ever."

Malcolm nodded. "Your father took years to pursue her in the first place," he commented dryly. "And then I went and mucked it up."

"You didn't," Harry assured him. "It's… complicated."

"So you've got a kid," Sarah said. "What's its name?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "_Her_ name is Portia, and she's almost eleven years old."

"Eleven is a good age," Sarah said. "She understands what's going on?"

"She understands that she went from having no one but her mother to having a sister, a brother, and nieces," Harry said. "And a father, but I'm already making a shambles of that, apparently."

"No, you're not," Malcolm said. "Ruth is just being her usual self – stubborn and combative when the ball isn't firmly in her hand."

Harry exhaled a sigh. "Yes, well… everyone in this room is sworn to secrecy about her identity. You cannot reveal it. All of her records have been changed to fit her alias already – she's done it herself, Malcolm, so it's solid."

Malcolm nodded and sighed. "So she's Janet forever more, then."

"Yes. Janet Williams is a legend created by an American identity forger. There is a social security number, British and American passports – as she is meant to be the child of a split household – and she's rock-solid," Harry said. "Good thing, as she's about to become one of the most influential women in the world, working at Joe Gregory's side."

"Bloody hell, could she get me a job?" Sarah asked, licking cheese off her thumb. "I'm about to get my arse handed to me at the shop when I start looking up the duff… they only want size two people, and that's my full-time job."

"Five minutes ago, you were going to ream me a new arsehole for marrying her, and now you want her to give you a job?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I'm fickle – blame the hormones," Sarah said.

Harry looked over at Graham. "Are you still pissed at me?"

"You could've warned me – you could've told me what was going on instead of just showing up with some kid and –"

Portia came into the room, rubbing her eyes. "Daddy, I'm thirsty," she said. "And there wasn't a cup for me in the bathroom."

Harry was going to get up, but Sarah did it first. She went to the cupboard and grabbed a clear plastic glass with flowers on it. "Is this okay, love?" she asked, holding it up. "It can be all yours."

Portia came forward and got the cup. "Are you Sarah?" she asked.

Sarah nodded and smiled. "And you're Portia, aren't you? Your dad's just been telling us about you."

Portia nodded and went to the sink to get some water. "Dad, I can't go to sleep," she admitted quietly.

"Okay," Harry said, "would you like to sit with us?"

Portia shook her head and looked nervously at Graham. "No, I'll go back upstairs," she said very quietly.

"Oh, come on, love," Sarah said. "Graham won't bite – his bark is much worse than. Come on – I've got biscuits," she encouraged.

"Biscuits are cookies," Harry said gently, trying to encourage Portia to stay.

"I like cookies," Portia murmured, coming over to the table and sitting down as close to Harry as she possibly could without sitting on his lap.

"Good," Sarah replied with a smile. "I love them, too – so we've always got them." She whipped up a plate with a bunch of biscuits on it and set it down on the table. "Harry says you're almost eleven," she said. "When's your birthday?"

"October 14th," Portia said, getting a Jaffa Cake and taking a bite. "Oh, yum!"

Harry chuckled and ruffled her hair. "We'll have to have a party for you, then… invite all of your friends and –"

"Charlie and Gracie are the only girls who like me," Portia said very quietly. "I don't have any other friends."

"I find that hard to believe," Harry said, feeling suddenly very sorry for his daughter. "You're a very smart young woman and –"

"That's why nobody likes me," Portia said, "because I have all the answers and I play clarinet good and I speak three languages… everybody hates me."

"I don't hate you," Sarah spoke up quickly, "and I highly doubt your dad does, either. I'll be your friend, Portia."

Graham sighed and said, "And I'm your big brother, so if anyone pushes you around, you tell me and I'll – I'll – call their parents and give them a sound talking to."

Harry bit back an almost-laugh. "You've got friends, Portia," he said softly. "Maybe not many, but one true friend is worth fifty of the wishy-washy type."

Portia grabbed another biscuit and curled up in her chair, leaning against Harry. He found the warmth of her small body, the smell of her, comforting – something he hadn't really felt since Catherine and Graham were very small. He felt guilty, having caused them all so much pain, and he knew that lavishing love on Portia would only serve to make them envious, but she was the culmination of his absolute love and devotion to Ruth, and he could only love her.

"Daddy?" Portia said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"I like your house," she said. "It's nice."

Harry kissed the top of her head and said, "I like it, too – but it's much nicer with you, Graham, and Sarah here."

Portia smiled up at him and continued nibbling on her biscuit.

* * *

><p>Two days passed before Harry got a call from Ruth. He hesitated answering it, but then picked up. "Hello."<p>

Her voice was shaking. "Hello," she whispered. "I didn't mean to go off the deep end like that –"

"I understand that you're frightened," he said, "but it's no excuse to terrify our child into thinking that you're randomly going to show up and tear her away from me. Malcolm, Graham, and Sarah all know and have pledged their secrecy on the matter. Graham has taken rather a shine to our Portia… as has my dog."

Ruth laughed a little. "Are you very terribly cross?" she asked.

"I was at the time. I'm not now. I understand your reasoning, the blind panic that's dictating your actions. And I'm sorry that I caused it." He drummed his fingertips on the desk. "By the way, my annual physical came back and I'm in better health than last year. My cardiologist won't see me until next week, so I'm thinking about booking the train and going up to Stokesley to call on my father. I think he'll be pleased to meet our Portia."

"You should," Ruth murmured. "I think she'll enjoy knowing she has a grandfather." She fell very quiet, and then she said, "I've been so worried you hate me now."

"Never," he said softly. "I love you. I've been worried you'd call me out on telling you to calm your tits – I don't even know where that came from. We used it in the day, but…"

"You were angry and rightfully so," she murmured. "How is our girl?"

"She's got Sarah wrapped round her little finger," Harry said. "She's fine – loves bangers and mash, eats like it's going out of style, and is the happiest I've seen her since we met."

"Can she come to the phone?" Ruth asked.

"She's actually out for a grocery run with Sarah," he said. "They're going through biscuits like crazy women."

"I hope she's eating real food, too," Ruth said softly. "All biscuits can't be good for her –"

"She especially loves fish and chips," he said with a chuckle. "She misses you something fierce, though."

"She can't possibly miss me more than I miss her," Ruth confessed sadly. "Or more than I miss you."

"Just a bit longer, then you'll be getting off at Gatwick and we'll be reunited," he promised. "Just another 12 days, my love."

"12 days is 12 days too long," she sighed. "I love my job, I do, but I can't sleep without you. Not anymore. I hate it. I love you and I hate being alone."

"If it makes you feel any better, Portia's been having a hard time sleeping, too," Harry said. "She winds up in bed with me after a spell. Poor mite."

Ruth sighed. "12 days, and then I'll be in London for ten days, then Paris for three, and Berlin for three, and back to Los Angeles."

"Do you want to meet my father?" Harry asked, changing the subject abruptly. "Only, when I called to tell him I was coming up, I might have told him I'd gotten remarried and wanted him to meet his granddaughter. He asked why I wasn't bringing you."

"I'd like to meet him," Ruth said softly. "Maybe on the weekend when I'm here? Does he want to meet me?"

"I told him you're a lovely, wonderful woman – of course he wants to meet you," Harry said with a sigh. "And we're meeting your mum for tea this afternoon. I'll let you know how that goes."

"Tell her… my mum… tell her I love her," Ruth said quietly. "Tell her that I'm sorry I couldn't just ring her and tell her what was what and where I was, and that I want to see her. I do."

"I will," he promised. "Now, you better get some sleep, my love."

"I'm beyond knackered –"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you the good news," Harry said.

"Good news?"

"Graham and Sarah are having a baby."

"Oh, that's – that's fantastic for them!" Ruth exclaimed. "I'm thrilled for them –"

"You don't fancy being a grandmum again?" Harry asked.

"No, it's not that – it's just, I know you were worried about them making ends meet before, and now they'll have a little one," Ruth murmured. "It takes a lot of money and time and… everything… raising kids."

"Well, of course, I'll help them financially," Harry said. "I've got a fair stash laid away for a rainy day. And when my dad dies, there will be more. Much more. And when I die, all that's left will go to Graham, of course."

"Of course," she said.

"It's all right," Harry assured her quietly. "Things will work out. Go get some sleep, my love, and we'll talk later, okay? Try to rest – 12 more days, and then we'll sleep very well, indeed."

"I love you," she murmured.

"I love you, too, my Ruth," he whispered. "Go to bed."

"All right." With that, the call ended.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth came over and sat down at the table in the little café. "Oh, Harry, it's good to see you," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"<p>

"I'm quite well," Harry said with a smile. "I've just got back from a trip to America."

"Oh, to see your Catherine?" Elizabeth asked. "How is she? How are your granddaughters?"

Portia came back from the loo and slid into her seat. "Sorry, I had to go really bad," she said.

"Did you wash your hands, love?" Harry asked.

"Of course!" Portia exclaimed indignantly. "Can I get hot chocolate, dad? I don't like tea."

Elizabeth blinked, then said, "And who's this, then?"

Harry cleared his throat. "This is my daughter, Portia," he said. He wasn't trying to be deliberately obstructive, but he needed to gauge Elizabeth's reaction before telling her that her daughter was alive and well. "She's… she's – well, her mum is my wife."

Portia nodded and smiled. "Are you my mom's mom?" she asked. "Dad said we'd be meeting you for tea, but I don't like tea, so may I have hot chocolate instead?"

Elizabeth blinked once, twice, then three times, staring blankly at Harry. "Are you telling me you've –"

"Found her? Yes," Harry said. "And married her. And brought our daughter home with me, while Janet is traveling for work."

"Are you my grandma?" Portia asked. "You look an awful lot like my mom –"

"Yes," Elizabeth finally said. "I suppose that I am…"

"She wanted me to tell you that she loves you and wants to see you when she's in London," Harry said. "And that she's sorry she couldn't just ring and tell you herself. Because of… all of the reasons she can't."

Elizabeth paused, then nodded. "Of course," she said. "Where is she now?"

"Sydney, Australia – she's traveling for work, but she'll be in the UK in 12 days."

Portia frowned. "12 whole days, dad? That's not fair –"

"Hot chocolate and biscuits for you," Harry said cheerfully. "Just till your mum gets here, then we have to be good again – she'll be cross at the number of biscuits you're eating." He ruffled her hair and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Tea was very lively, what with Elizabeth and Portia learning about one another. Elizabeth, of course, was enchanted with the little girl, and Harry couldn't blame her in the slightest. Ruth had done a remarkable job with raising her.

He could only hope that his father would be just as accepting.

END PART THIRTEEN


	14. Chapter 14

Fourteen:  
>A Father's Love<p>

Portia had been remarkably well-behaved on the train; she was fascinated with the scenery they were rolling by, and Harry had taken precautions to get her some anti-nausea medication from the chemist, so they were well-prepared. She'd even eaten a sandwich – egg and cress – along the way. She was bright-eyed, excited, and happy.

All things Harry hadn't been whilst coming back to this ancestral home for quite some time. He looked forward to each excursion with dread, knowing that his grumpy old father didn't (or wouldn't) want to spare the time for his grumpy sod of a son. The only reason he even cared this time was because Harry was bringing novelty with him; someone new to inspect and consider alienating.

David Henry Pearce was good at alienating people. Perhaps better even than Harry was.

Harry wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself, but he was nervous about seeing his father. The last time he'd been up, David had thrown a paperweight and destroyed a priceless stained glass window in the library, all because Harry had refused to leave the Service. That had been in 1998. There had been a few phone calls since then, but never anything important enough to come up.

That Harry was openly seeking his father's approval was something new, something different. It meant that Harry had changed in some fundamental way, and Ruth and Portia were the only reason he might want to change his tenuous, tetchy relationship with his father.

The pulled into the station and Harry said, "The butler will come pick us up."

"What's a butler, dad?"

"Someone who helps takes care of the house," Harry replied.

"Oh. Why?"

Harry smiled and gave her a kiss. "Because it's too big for your grandfather to manage by himself," he said. "There's a butler, three maids, a gamekeeper, a housekeeper, a cook, and a gardener – last I knew."

"That's a lot of people taking care of a house," Portia said.

"It's a big house, love," Harry said softly. A big manor house, full of secrets and lies, envy and deception, and he'd wanted nothing more than to break away from all of it. As the eldest (now only) son, he was set to inherit the albatross round his neck, and he envied his brother Ben the escape he'd made in death. Instead, Harry would inherit the relatively intact Kindwell House and its remaining 300 acres of parkland, good only for raising grouse, deer, and sheep. The dwindling family fortune would also fall into his lap, and he hated every moment of knowing that there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. The fact that he'd insisted on not being called by his inherited title of 'The Honourable' had actually annoyed the hierarchy of Five, the Home Secretary, and most everyone who knew him in public circles. The fact that he purposefully flaunted his knighthood instead, choosing a life of service to the Queen over service to his family lineage infuriated the Establishment. And he reveled in the defiance.

"Oh," she replied. "Is your dad very important?"

Harry's lip twitched a little. "He sits in the House of Lords," he said wryly. "When he can be bothered to come down to London." When his daughter looked at him with confusion, he said, "It's like America's Congress or Senate, but with a bunch of men in wigs."

"So he's important?"

"Sort of," Harry dismissed. "Now, you need to be on your best behavior. My father doesn't like loud noises, or people sneaking up on him, either. He's a bit stodgy, so he doesn't laugh much or smile much, either, and he definitely doesn't hug people."

"He sounds very… grumpy," Portia said in a very diplomatic, cautious tone.

"He rather is," Harry sighed as they pulled into the station. "But I think he'll like you. Even Graham likes you, and he doesn't like anyone."

"He doesn't like you?" Portia asked.

Harry sighed heavily and grabbed their bags. "No, I'm afraid he doesn't," he said in a wry tone. "He loves me because I'm his son, but he doesn't like me at all for the decisions I've made. I'm afraid your mum is the only person who actually doesn't mind that I'm the way I am."

Portia grabbed his hand and looked up at him. "I love you just the way you are, dad, because you're my dad," she said, smiling.

Harry smiled down at her. "You are entirely too good to be my girl," he said. "You're all your mum."

They disembarked and waited to gather their last two bags, then went to meet their ride. "Ah, hello, Alison," Harry said, shaking the butler's hand. Alison Peterstoke had been a fixture of the household since Harry was married to Jane, and the man who was a scant handful of years older than Harry greeted him with a smile. "We're traveling lightly, as we've to be back in London on Monday," he said.

"Let me take your bags, then," Alison replied. "And who is this lovely young lady?"

"My daughter, Portia," Harry said. "Father doesn't know yet, so I would ask you to not be making comments below-stairs until after they've met."

Portia said, "Is that the butler, dad?"

"Oh, you're American!" Alison exclaimed. "Where are you from, Miss Portia?"

"Los Angeles," Portia replied cheerfully. "Where are you from? You have a funny accent."

Harry placed a hand on her head. "Portia, you can't just tell people they speak funnily," he said gently.

"I'm from Harrogate, m'lady," Alison replied. "It's no problem, Sir Harry – she's young. She'll learn quickly."

Alison helped them into the car and stowed their baggage in the trunk of the Lexus; of course, it was just like David Pearce to have a completely impractical luxury car to drive around to keep up the pretense that the Earl of Bly was just as elegant as his title. Portia didn't think anything of it; her mother drove a Lexus, so it wasn't anything out of the ordinary for her. For Harry, it felt like a death trap.

"Your father is putting you in the Blue Room," Alison said. "And your guest in the Yellow Room."

"Ah," Harry said. "Good choices, unless the roof's leaking again."

"He's had an entirely new roof put on just last spring," Alison said. "He said there's no sense in you inheriting a mess, so he'd better put the money from his stock profits to good use and do some renovating."

"Wise move," Harry commented wryly. "I rather think he got tired of feeling like he'd go underwater in his own home, though."

"You don't think very much of Lord Bly, do you, Sir Harry?" Alison inquired.

"I think that he's a crotchety old man with delusions of grandeur," Harry replied, "but he is my father, so I suppose I should be kinder to him in his old age."

Portia was looking out the windows, smiling, as they drove. After a while, they turned off the main road and onto one of cobblestones that led to Kindwell House – when Harry inherited, the cobblestones would be the first thing to go. He'd get some real pavement in, the kind that didn't destroy your fillings with every jolt.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered as they hit a particularly uncomfortable spot. "Some things never change – my fillings ache like hell, now. Don't you have a better car for this road?"

"His Lordship insisted I bring the Lexus."

Harry grunted, knowing that he was being punished, even now, for his wayward ways. Stupid old man.

* * *

><p>Harry picked up when he saw Ruth's name flash on the screen of his mobile. "Oh, thank god," he breathed.<p>

"Your text sounded urgent," Ruth murmured sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Well, we've been here for hours and my father is still in his sanctuary, doing god knows what," Harry said. "Probably listening to Radio 3 and watching the news at the same time, typing out horrible missives to the papers and ignoring the fact that I'm here at all. He knows we've arrived. He's just punishing me again."

"I'm sure it's not like that," Ruth said softly. She stifled a yawn. "He's probably just having a nap – elderly people do that. Rather a lot, I should think. It's probably nothing to do with you at all, Harry. How is Portia?"

"She's happy as a clam," Harry muttered. "She's thrilled to death to be reading some of my mum's books and I think if my father doesn't send for us in a few minutes' time, I'll take her out for a walk in the garden."

"I think she'd like that," Ruth said gently. "Did I tell you? I've bumped my flight up a couple of days. I'll be in London sooner than we thought – Sydney has proven to be properly malleable and I've barely had to supervise the changeover."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, but either way, it means I'll be with you and Portia that much sooner," she murmured. "I miss you both very much. Portia because she's my little bit, and you because… well…"

Harry swallowed hard. "Oh, don't start anything you can't finish," he sighed. "Please."

She chuckled. "Well, we'll have a very happy reunion, won't we?"

"I rather think that you'll have a difficult time keeping me from pinning you to the wall and –" He glanced at the doorway and felt slightly uncomfortable that Alison had heard however much he'd heard. "Yes, Alison?" Harry sighed.

"His Lordship is ready to receive you and Miss Portia now, Sir Harry."

Harry sighed. "Of course, just when I'm on the phone with… yes, all right. We'll be right down." He frowned and muttered into the phone, "I'm sorry, my love – I need to go. I've been _summoned_."

"Mmm, all right," she breathed. "I should go back to sleep."

"I love you."

"I love you," she murmured. "Kiss her for me, please."

"Of course," Harry agreed readily. "Sleep well."

He terminated the call, then went to collect Portia from the Yellow Room, where she'd taken up residence in the enormous canopy bed with a book of fairy stories that had been her grandmother's. She looked up at him and smiled. "Can we go for a walk outside, dad?"

"Maybe later," Harry said. "It's time to go in and have tea with my father, love."

Portia sighed. "I don't like tea."

"I know, but there will be biscuits," he said, attempting to bribe her.

Portia closed the book and lugged it over to him. "Okay, but I'm taking my book," she said firmly.

He smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "That's from your mum," Harry said. "She misses you very much."

Portia looked sad for a moment, then nodded. "But she'll be here soon?" she asked hopefully.

"Soon enough," Harry promised. He offered her his hand, which she took, and they made their way downstairs to the smoking room, where David took his tea in the early evening. Alison, of course, held the door for them. "Hello, father," Harry said.

"Oh, do shut up and come over here where I can see you, boy," David snapped gruffly. When Harry came closer, he glowered at him. "Bloody hell, you look like you've been chewed up and spat out. Well, come and get yourself comfortable at least. No point in everyone being miserable."

Portia took the gruff invitation to mean her, as well, and she scampered over and hopped up onto one of the antique chaise lounges with a smile. Harry just watched her with one eyebrow raised, until she lowered her feet off of the couch, suddenly looking rather guilty.

David squinted in her direction, then fumbled for his glasses. "You didn't tell me you were bringing some child with you," he muttered. "This is no place for children anymore, Henry."

Harry sighed. "Father, this is Portia. Portia, this is my father."

Portia smiled. "I'm glad to meet you, grandpa," she said eagerly. "I met my grandma the other day, and she's really nice –"

"Well, I'm not nice," David snapped. "Henry, how dare you just –"

"How dare I just what?" Harry inquired. "Not tell you that I'm in love with the most wonderful woman and we have a daughter together? Not tell you that I finally understand why you and mum were so happy together? What exactly am I meant to not dare to aspire to, father?"

David spluttered. "Don't speak to me that way, Henry –"

"I'm an adult," Harry said. "I can speak to you in any way I see fit, father."

Portia looked back and forth at them in alarm. "Please don't fight," she said, her eyes wide. "Please don't. You're supposed to love each other because you're dad and son – why are you fighting?"

Harry took a deep breath and went to sit next to his daughter on the chaise. He gently put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to upset you," he murmured.

"Where are your balls, Henry, that a slip of a girl can tell you what to do?" David challenged.

"Father, stop it," Harry snapped. "We're upsetting Portia and that's the last thing we need to do right now." He gave her another kiss and sighed. "What we're squabbling over like bloody toddlers is in the past; yes, I married Jane, yes, I cheated on Jane – and she cheated in return, yes, I was a horrible father to my children, and yes… the Service chewed me up and spat me out. But I'm not that man any longer, father. Nor do I want to be."

Portia said, "Who's Jane?"

"Jane is his wife," David muttered.

"Jane is Catherine's mother," Harry said with a sigh.

The door to the drawing room opened and a wizened old woman came in with a tray of biscuits, cake, and other delights. Portia's eyes lit up, and she squeaked a bit, smiling at the cook, who winked in return. "No one told me that Master Harry would be bringing a young lady with him, or this would have been in before the tea," Mrs. Whatley said.

Harry paused for a moment, thinking that he had never known Mrs. Whatley's first name. She'd been employed under his grandfather first, then his father… and god knew she'd probably outlive him! And yet, she was just Mrs. Whatley. "Thank you, Mrs. Whatley," he said gratefully.

"Dad, may I have a cookie, please?" Portia asked.

"I don't know why she keeps insisting on calling you 'dad'," David grunted.

"Because I am her father," Harry said in a stiff voice. "Mrs. Whatley, do you mind taking Portia to the kitchen and making her some hot chocolate? My father and I need to have a conversation that I'd prefer she not hear."

"Come on, lovey," Mrs. Whatley cooed to Portia. "We've got more biscuits and cake in the kitchen. And I'll make you a nice cuppa tea…"

"I don't like tea," Portia sighed.

"Oh, well… hot chocolate, then," Mrs. Whatley said. The two disappeared into the corridor, and Harry sat down, putting his head in his hands.

"I don't know why I ever thought I should bring her here," Harry said. "I thought maybe you'd gotten softer in your old age. Or maybe you wouldn't hate my daughter like you hate me."

David grunted. "Henry, since you and Jane got married, I've been waiting for you to bloody pull up your trousers and grow up," he spat. "Now you're sixty-four bloody years old and you've got a midlife crisis for me to deal with!"

Harry shook his head. "We'll be on the next train back to London," he promised. "First thing tomorrow – "

"No, you will explain to me exactly who that child is," David ordered. "And you will tell me the truth; none of that MI-5 flim-flam you can foist off on other people."

Harry frowned. "Have you spoken to Catherine or Graham recently?" he inquired.

"Oh yes, of course," David said. "They are good kids, all things considered."

"What have they told you?"

David made a dismissive noise. "About you? That you're trying not to be such a piece of work. That you adore your grandchildren. That you fell in love with someone who died and you've never been the same since. I'm not certain that any of those are good things. Tigers and stripes, m'boy."

Harry ran his hands through his thinning hair. "I cannot and will not apologize for cheating on Jane," he said quietly. "Least of all to you. You forced me to marry her; neither of us were happy. We gave you an heir and, yes, we were both carrying on romantic liaisons. What's done is done, father. I can't change what happened, and I know how disappointed you are that I chose the Service over my family." He exhaled and shook his head. "But I never would have met Ruth had I left the Service." He glanced over at his father. If he told the truth, the real truth, he would still be dirty and corrupt in his father's eyes. So why should he bother? "I'm not here for your approval," he said. "I'm here to show you that I'm not the man you condemned all those years ago."

David made an annoyed noise.

"I met Portia's mother at Five," Harry said. "We danced around one another, and finally managed to admit that there was something between us after a couple of years." He took a deep breath, then let it out. It was still painful to talk about Cotterdam and its fallout, even now. "There was an… incident… and she tried to take the blame. We faked her death and she left the country. I… I had no idea that she was pregnant, father. All I knew was how incredibly selfish I felt for loving her, still, knowing that I could never see her again." He drummed his fingertips idly on his thigh. "Well, I found her, and she had Portia – my daughter – and I've decided not to waste anymore time being unhappy for the sake of it. We've been married – with Her Majesty's permission, since I know you're worried about my almost-non-existent chance of taking the throne – and, like I said, I'm not here for your approval."

David was sat in his chair, frowning. "Does this woman go by Ruth anymore?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, "Ruth is no more. She can't be Ruth anymore, or there could be repercussions. She goes by Janet, now."

David hesitated, then nodded. "Janet Williams," he said. "The woman who got you nearly naked all over the front pages."

Harry groaned and covered his eyes. "Please don't mention that –"

"You should think twice about going out in a dressing gown – she's no good for you, Henry," David sighed.

"Yes," Harry said, "she is."

David scowled at him for a moment, then relented. "Yes, I suppose she is," he said. "Else you'd never bloody come round here till I was six feet under." He paused. "Henry… it's not that I don't care about you, it's just that you make it so bloody hard to love you. You're rather a dick."

Harry blinked. "What?"

David got up, struggling for a moment till he had his cane. "Come with me," he ordered gruffly. They went into the smoking room, which was the next room adjacent to the drawing room, and he flipped on the light. He went over to the coffee table, where a book was laid out.

Harry leaned over and looked at it, then turned the pages, his head not believing what his eyes were showing him. His father had a huge scrapbook filled with tidbits of Harry's life; articles, photographs, the whole lot.

Suddenly, all his father's days scouring the news made sense, and he felt sick to his stomach. He had written off his father's affections so long ago, and to see them made clear…

"You'll bring here here, won't you?" David asked. "So I can meet the woman you should have married instead of Jane?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, of course I will," he said quietly.

The photo of him and Ruth at the Emmys made him hesitate; she was so beautiful, all smile and gentle seduction, his arm around her waist, a hint of a smile on his lips. And that's how they were to the world; the vivacious younger woman and the paunchy old man.

But only he knew the secret smile she had just for him.

END PART FOURTEEN


	15. Chapter 15

Fifteen:  
>Shaken, Not Stirred<p>

Ruth's driver took her the long way round because of a traffic snarl, and she was glad of it. She'd conferred with Catherine to get Harry's current address so she could surprise him by just showing up on the doorstep – rather than calling and being forced to wait forever and a day at the airport.

The streets of London weren't much changed from when she'd left, and she drank in the sights and sounds blissfully. The driver smiled and said, "Been a while since you've been home, then, miss?"

"Yes," Ruth said softly, smiling out the window. "I'd almost forgotten how annoying the traffic is and what an eyesore some of the things are."

"How long have you been out of the country?"

She sighed sadly. "Years. A decade."

"Too long."

She nodded. "Too long, indeed."

"Well, whomever you're staying with will set you straight – this is a very posh neighborhood, you know," he commented dryly.

She nodded and murmured, "Yes, well, my husband doesn't do things by halves, really."

They pulled to a stop in front of a row of townhouses, and he gestured. "That'll be it, then, ma'am – number 46. Let me get your luggage."

While he was unloading her things, Ruth stood there and looked at the house with its white paintwork and stark black trim and door. Clearly the house was part of a historical registry trust; the front 'garden' which consisted of several flower beds that were filled with flowers in riotous colors was neat and tidy, the stonework steps were swept clean, and the windows gleamed as the sun retreated low in the sky.

Ruth paid the driver a handsome tip; his company would be paid the rest through their contract with iNBC. And she took a deep breath and carried her bags to the front door. She rang the bell, and waited.

Suddenly, there was a furor of barking, and then Harry's voice. "Yes, Duchess, yes, calm down – someone's at the door, yes." The door opened, and he blinked as if he didn't believe what he was seeing. "What? How? When did you –"

"I wanted to surprise you," she said with a smile.

"You have," he breathed. "Come in, my love – let me get your bags – we'll have to set out another mug for tea –"

"Harry?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"Don't I even get a kiss?" she asked. She need not have asked; he pulled her close and kissed her indecently, their tongues tangling salaciously as they stood on the doorstep. The dog was busy sniffing Ruth, and she finally huffed a bit and went inside again. When they finally broke apart, Ruth breathed, "Oh, I've missed that…"

"If you've been missing that, just wait until I get you upstairs," he teased softly. "But, for now, won't you come in before the neighbors see and begin to gossip?"

"Sod the neighbors," she said cheerfully. They both grabbed her bags and went inside. She took everything in; clearly, Sarah and Graham were good for him, because the place had a lived-in feel and even the antique furniture was appealing. "Where's Portia?"

"We're in the kitchen," Harry said, setting her bags down and brushing another, sweeter, kiss over her skin. "Sarah's finally managed to get her to try a bit of very milky sweet tea."

Ruth smiled and said, "I've missed her so much –"

"I know you have," he said softly. "She's managed to charm the hell out of everyone she's met…"

"Just like her father," Ruth murmured, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"No, her father is a grumpy old sod," Harry sighed. "Come on – let's get you a cuppa and we'll decide what to order in for supper. Graham works late, and Sarah has been living on curry the last few days – she says it's the only thing that's settling her stomach." He paused, then added, "But we can get in whatever you'd like."

"Harry, I'll be here for nearly two weeks – curry is fine," she promised, giving him a kiss.

Harry led her into the kitchen and said, "Portia, look who's here."

Portia glanced up from her puzzle book and shrieked, "MOMMY!" She knocked over her chair in her haste to get to Ruth, and threw her arms around her mother's legs. "I missed you so, so much!"

"Not nearly as much as I missed you, my darling," Ruth breathed, hugging her daughter and beginning to cry. "Oh, you've grown since I saw you last…"

"I don't think so –"

"Just a little," Ruth murmured. "But even just a little is good. Have you been having fun with your dad?"

Portia nodded, her curly red hair going every which way. "We went to a museum today," she announced. "And we looked at the mummies and things. I like London, mommy – can we live here?"

"We'll talk about it later," Ruth said softly. "Now, why don't we all have a cuppa and some biscuits, and talk about what we want for supper."

Portia grinned at her. "Uh-huh," she agreed, bouncing back to the table where Sarah was still sitting, dunking a ginger biscuit into her tea. "Sarah, this is my mommy – she got here early."

Sarah smiled wanly. "Hi," she said. "I'm a bit nauseous, sorry…"

"No, it's all right, don't worry," Ruth said. "Harry told me you're expecting – I don't want you to go to any trouble just for me, Sarah. Especially when you feel poorly."

"Builders okay, my love?" Harry asked. "I might have a bit of Earl Grey in the very back of the cupboard, but I don't know how long it's been in there…"

"It's fine," Ruth promised. Within a couple of minutes, she had a perfectly brewed cup of tea with a splash of milk in hand and was settled in at the table.

"How was your flight?" Harry asked.

"Lovely, actually," she murmured. "A private jet is much different than a Virgin 747."

She smiled when Harry's fingers brushed against hers and he held her hand. Still, after all these years, that had the power to thrill and excite her. She knew that by the time they got upstairs and ready for bed tonight, no holds would be barred. And it was enough to start arousing her, this little bit of attention.

"Long trip, though –"

"We stopped over in Singapore and Dubai," she said. "It wasn't that bad, but I wanted so badly to come home and see you both."

Sarah looked up and said, "You two are too sweet together."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So, dinner," he said. "We've been having an awful lot of curry…"

"I like curry," Portia piped up.

"Yes, I know," Harry said. "But why don't we ask your mum what she'd like?"

"I think I could stand a good chicken tikka masala," Ruth replied with a smile. "We can do something else tomorrow. Or I can whip something up, if you'd like."

"Are we going to see granddad this weekend?" Portia asked Harry.

"We are," Harry replied. "I've booked the train and all." He glanced over at Ruth. "He wants to throw a party; I thought it was probably best not to turn him down in a gregarious mood."

"I'd love to meet your father," she replied honestly.

"I'm not sure my stomach could take the train," Sarah moaned. "And bloody Graham can't take time off work, especially since I resigned at the shop."

Harry sighed and said, "I told you Malcolm is looking for a helper…"

Sarah sat up and stuck her tongue out at him. "I haven't coded for a bloody long time," she protested.

He just sighed and gave Ruth an annoyed look. "She read computer programming at university."

"Well, I taught myself how to hack," Ruth said. "It's not bloody rocket science, Harry, but languages and syntax do change, and it can be difficult to keep up with if you aren't doing it constantly. Don't fault her for not necessarily wanting to be Malcolm's tea girl. And don't put so much pressure on; being pregnant isn't easy. I had eight jobs when I was pregnant, and I ended up quitting them all because I could hardly move."

"Are we having curry, dad?" Portia asked.

"Yes, I suppose we're ordering in a curry," Harry sighed.

* * *

><p>"Graham is working a graveyard shift," Harry said, his hand splayed low across the small of Ruth's back, very nearly on her bum. "He won't be in till five or six in the morning."<p>

Ruth nodded and smiled a little. "Okay," she murmured. "So I have time to prepare for meeting him, still."

Harry shrugged a little. "He swings hot and cold; one minute, he's very accepting, and the next, he's a bit… not."

"Mmm, like his father a bit?" she teased.

The master bed and bath apparently took up the entirety of the third floor; Ruth was impressed when he opened the door and flipped the light switch. The room was spacious, open, and would clearly be bright in the morning hours when the sun was coming up. An enormous bed – clearly an antique – took up space on one wall, and Harry's "office" took up another corner. But there was still so much space… and several Persian rugs covered the mass of hardwood flooring.

"I've not really taken much time to decorate," he admitted. "Downstairs, a bit, but most of the things came with the house when I inherited it."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "It's quite lovely," she murmured. "But I wonder if that bed is made to withstand…"

"Five generations of Pearces have likely been conceived in that bed," he said, giving her a disapproving look. "I think it's up to the force of our… coupling."

She couldn't help it; she started laughing. "Oh, this is absurd – it's like we've never made love before, and you're just trying to show off your etchings."

He cracked a smile, and she leaned in to kiss him. "Ruth, I've… I've always thought that if I lived here, I would have someone here to share it with. Thank you for finally letting me share it."

She kissed him again. "I'm absolutely knackered," she admitted with a laugh.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"You'll have to tell me, sometime, how much," she murmured, smiling.

"More than the sun, the moon, and all of the stars in the sky," he breathed. "Without you, I'm not certain I can go on. Not anymore."

She smiled and ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I wouldn't want to go on without you," she whispered. "The last couple of weeks have been torture. And eleven years… it was bloody awful."

He leaned in and kissed her, this time with intent. It wasn't just a tender kiss, no, this was a kiss that showed her just how he felt, and it warmed her through and through. He pulled her closer, flush against him, and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. The kisses went on, and it was comfortable like that, wrapped up together sweetly. She pulled away for a moment to breathe, and he lowered his forehead to hers, their noses touching, their lips a heartbeat away.

"Bed?" he suggested, but it was almost an order rather than a suggestion.

"Oh, yes, please," Ruth murmured.

He nodded and gestured to the bamboo panel on the other wall. "The en suite is through there; please make yourself comfortable," Harry invited. "I'll go let Duchess out for the last time and set the alarm, and I'll be right back."

Ruth hesitated a moment, feeling like the mood was broken. "Harry, I –"

"We're both tired," he said gently. "And if we make love, we should be happy and comfortable and tucked up in bed."

"When," Ruth said.

"Hmm?"

"You said 'if' we make love – it's 'when' we make love, Harry, because… because it will happen," she said. Her confidence was shaky, but she wanted him to know her intent.

"I didn't want to assume," he said softly.

"Go close up for the night," she murmured. "I'll take a shower and get ready for bed."

She took a couple of steps toward the bathroom; he stopped her and grabbed her hand. "Ruth, I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"No, it's okay," she said. "You've got more than just me to worry about. Go ahead, love." She pulled away from him and went into the bathroom. It was just as airy and spacious as the bedroom was; all gleaming gold-toned fixtures, olive and yellow tones in the shower curtain, the rugs, and the walls. She shed her clothes and found the clean towels, then got into the shower and washed the day away with water so hot it was almost scalding.

She stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later in Harry's dressing gown, fluffing her hair with the towel. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"Hello," she murmured.

He glanced up and sighed. "Hello."

"I rather like your bathroom," she said. "I rather like your house. If I didn't have to be based out of Los Angeles, I'd rather like to live here."

He looked up at her and said, "I've not been entirely honest with you."

She shrugged. "Everyone has their secrets."

"This was my grandparents' townhouse," he said. He took a deep breath, then sighed. "You know how I've always looked down my nose at the aristocrats and the Establishment?"

She came over and sat down beside him. "It's one of the things I like about you," Ruth murmured. "That you're enobled and such a shit about it."

"My father is the Earl of Bly," Harry finally said. "When he dies, I inherit. When I die, Graham inherits. My grandparents split this house away from the main estate because I was young and newly wed with Catherine… we never lived here. Jane hated it." He frowned and looked away. "I'm sorry; I should have told you."

She frowned. "Really?"

He exhaled and sighed. "Are you horribly cross with me?"

"I'm more cross that you think I'm so shallow as to care whether or not you've got money and a bloody title," she said, her frown turning into a scowl. "I love you, Harry bloody Pearce, and have done since before you were a Knight. I don't care. _I love you_."

"I've felt horribly guilty," he admitted.

"Don't," she whispered. "I don't bloody care. It doesn't matter."

"My father – you see – the party…"

"Harry, it's a party," she said softly. "It's not the first one I've been to, and I'm sure it won't be the final one, either."

He exhaled. "He wants to throw a party congratulating us on our marriage," he said very quietly. "He's invited friends, family, people I've not seen in years… and, of course, the landed gentry and all kinds of –"

"Harry," she murmured, placing her hand on top of his. "It's fine. I love you. I trust you. I'm not afraid anymore." She drew his attention back to her, and smiled. "You're so sweet to be worried, my love."

"I'm terrified," he whispered. "I'm scared to death that you'll leave because I lied and never told you –"

"Not going to happen," Ruth said, shaking her head. "You're stuck with me, Harry."

"Jane hated this house," he said very quietly, "because she hated me, and this was all the more reason… all the more reason to want out of our marriage. We never lived here, though it was my grandmother's intention for Catherine and Graham to have a safe haven."

"It's a safe haven for Portia," Ruth murmured, squeezing his hand. "And for you."

"It's called Ravensmede," he said. "The house, I mean. My grandfather was quite fond of Edgar Allen Poe. It was his refuge away from the pressures of everything – work, the War, grandmum's worry about the estate taxes…"

She gave him a kiss. "It's a lovely house," she whispered. "And I love you even more because you put my favorite body wash in the bath."

He smiled just a tick and put his arm around her. "Of course," he said softly. "The lady of the house must feel most welcome in it."

She got up and untied the sash of the dressing gown, letting it slide off her shoulders and reveal her naked skin. "I am," she said. "Very comfortable."

His eyes twinkled, and they watched her as she climbed into bed and pulled the sheet loosely over her. As soon as she was settled, breasts still exposed to the open air, he got up and began taking off his clothes. When he joined her in bed, he was as naked as she was, and she took the chance to explore his body in the dim light from the bedside lamp.

"Like what you see?" Harry asked, his tone slightly sarcastic.

"Mmm, yes," she whispered. "You're perfect."

"I am anything but perfect," he huffed.

"You're perfect to me," she murmured. "I'm far less than perfect; my thighs are huge, my bum's got fat, and I've got more stretch marks than –"

"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he interjected.

She smiled and gave him a kiss; when he deepened it, she snuggled into his embrace and let the emotions and the sensations run wild between them. Lips, tongues, hands, fingers… skin everywhere was licked and touched and kissed, every nerve ending brought to life with delicious delight. By the time he pulled her hips down flush with his, his hands spanning her hips and digging in, they were both more than ready. She gasped and closed her eyes, feeling him fill her almost to overflow. She moved slowly, feeling the buildup already tingling in her spine, wanting it to last as long as possible. His eyes were glassy with desire, watching her, his hands holding her steady as she rocked against him.

"Ohhh," she breathed, gasping, closing her eyes, and giving in when her orgasm took hold. Harry wasn't far behind her… only a few moments passed before his eyes rolled back and he groaned.

It wasn't explosive; it was comfortable, good, lovely. It was normal, and it was them. It was beautiful simply because it was between them, despite both being exhausted.

She buried her face in his chest and breathed in the smell that was uniquely her Harry; a bit of sweat, a bit of that salty water-smelling cologne, and something she would never be able to identify aside from 'Harry'. She had missed it so much that now the absence of it was unnerving.

He pressed a kiss into her hair, the top of her head, and he whispered, "What time do you have to leave in the morning?"

"My driver will be here at seven," she whispered, sighing.

"I'll make sure you have breakfast," he promised softly. "I'll set the alarm."

She pressed a kiss to his chest. "I love you," she whispered.

"You say that so much," he rumbled softly.

"Because I want you to know it."

"I do know it," he whispered. "Every time you smile, I know it."

"Harry, you've gone soft in your old age," she murmured, yawning and closing her eyes. "Good night, my love."

END PART FIFTEEN


	16. Chapter 16

I'm sorry I've been conspicuously absent the last week or so. We had my brother's funeral on Saturday, and everything leading up to that has been a bloody mess.

* * *

><p>Sixteen:<br>A Drop in the Bucket

"So, what are your plans for the weekend?" Joe asked over Skype as Ruth shuffled through her notes for the meeting, trying to decide if she was actually finished, or if she had another criticism on how the London office operated under pressure. "Maisie's got a dance recital, so we're going to that tomorrow morning and Billy has peewee football after."

She shuffled some more and didn't look at her computer screen. "We're catching the train when I leave work and going to my father-in-law's for the weekend," she said, trying to be purposefully vague.

"Aye… and that's where, then?"

She sighed. "The north."

"Come on, Jan… throw me a bone. I'm going to be painfully bored all of tomorrow – least you can do is give me a shining bloody example of –"

"I honestly don't know," Ruth said. "York, maybe? Stokesley? Harry told me but I didn't pay that much attention, really." She glanced at the laptop and sighed. "There's going to be a big party on Saturday. I had to send someone out to buy me a bloody dress because all I've got with me are work clothes and a couple sets of civvies."

"For you to be buying a dress… it's definitely a big party."

She nodded and rubbed her eyes. "Bloody Queen's going to be there and all."

"Wait, back up that train… you say the Queen, as in…"

"As in the overseer of Britain with the crown and the scepter and the many houses and – yeah, that's the one," she sighed. "Harry has to 'present' me as his wife in public. It's all a bit humiliating, really, but that's what one gets when they marry, even unwittingly, into an aristocratic family."

"Sir Harry is an aristocrat?"

"Will be, when his father dies," Ruth said softly. "Look, I don't really want to hash this out and I've got to finish up over here so I can get out at a reasonable time so we're not late for the train."

"You're upset…"

"No, I'm just… I'm worried that I'm not enough," Ruth said. "I'm not exactly the kind of woman he should have married, really." She frowned and said, "And you need to be getting off to get your munchkins to day care. Everything will be gravy once I've passed approval, I think. You have anything in particular you need me to work on today or…?"

"If you can find a way to get someone to pick up that iNBC is taking over broadcasting the National's recordings over here in the States that would be bloody marvelous – Auntie Beeb has been elbowing in and trying to cover that bit up."

"So… " She paused, then smiled a little. "So we arrange an interview with Sir Derek Jacobi about the upcoming _Cat Walk_ broadcast, and plug it in all the major outlets in the US. That's a no-brainer. The problem is going to be getting someone – a damn good reporter - who's willing to think outside the box and wriggle around Auntie Beeb."

"Roger Maitland from the _New York Times_," Joe said automatically. "And he owes me a favor."

"You arrange that, since you're state-side," Ruth said, "and I'll go finish up over here and get ready to meet my father-in-law. I don't know that any good can come of this, since he's expecting someone flash and glam, I think, and rather more Harry's age."

Joe snickered. "If you were Harry's age, you'd still be the most beautiful woman in the room… since Cate's not there, that is."

Ruth smiled a little and said, "You really like her quite a lot, don't you?"

Joe sighed. "Yeah, well, she's not…"

"She's still mourning Stephen," Ruth said gently. "One of these days, she'll get to a point where she's not thinking about it every day, and that's when she'll look at you as something inconvenient and loveable. So just… be patient."

"I am being patient," Joe scoffed. "Don't you have to go get ready to meet the Queen or something?"

Ruth laughed. "Yes, sir, I'll be sure to be on my best behavior and not do anything to misrepresent work in any way…"

"If any of your father-in-law's guests accuse you of being a reporter, you bloody make sure they know that you're in PR and not actually writing the damn stories," Joe said. "It will save your skin, lovey."

Ruth nodded as the girl she'd sent out to the shops knocked on the window of her office. "I've got to go – dress is here, so I need to make sure it's appropriate."

"Good luck hob-nobbing it," Joe replied. "I expect a full report on Monday."

"Tuesday," Ruth replied. "We're coming back late on Monday."

Joe gave her a dirty look. "Not even a text?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and ended the call.

* * *

><p>Alison, of course, was waiting for them at the station. Harry reached over to shake his hand and said, "Hello, Alison – "<p>

Portia lit up and bounced a little. "Hello, Mr. Alison – we've had a nice train ride. I saw lots of animals on the side of the tracks this time, till it got dark."

Alison reached out to shake Portia's hand. "I'll bet you did, Miss Portia," he said cheerfully. "And this must be Lady Janet, then?"

Harry nodded. "Alison, this is my wife, Janet – Janet, this is my father's butler, Alison," he introduced them. "He also acts as a chauffer –"

"My eyes aren't what they used to be, Henry, else I'd have done it myself," David said. "Sorry, I meant to meet you all here, but I had to nip round the loo. Plumbing isn't what it used to be." He sighed as he joined them with deliberate steps, aided by his cane.

"Granddad!" Portia exclaimed, rushing over and giving him a big hug. "Hiya."

"Hiya, kitten," David replied. "We've got dinner waiting at the house for us –"

"Father," Harry spoke up, gently refocusing the old man. "I'd like you to meet my wife, Janet." He gently pulled Ruth forward and made sure she was all right before he continued, "Of course, you've already given your blessing and all, but…"

David looked her up and down, then an enormous smile broke out on his lips. "You know, our Portia doesn't look a bloody thing like you," he commented. "Which is a bleeding shame – no wonder Henry had to have you."

Ruth's eyes went wide, and she stammered, "I… I suppose I should take that as a compliment."

"If I were twenty years younger, I'd be racing him for your –"

"Father!"

"- affections!" David finished. "Bloody hell, Henry, you'd think I was just a dirty old man the way you go on."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are a dirty old man," he muttered. "I had to assure the girl at the café the last time we went out that you weren't trying to talk to her cleavage, you're just blind without your glasses."

"She did have rather nice cleavage," David replied.

"What's cleavage?" Portia asked.

"Never you mind," Harry said firmly. "Your granddad is just being silly, love."

"I'm hungry," Portia complained.

"Like I said, there's dinner laid out for us at the house," David said. "So we might get your bags – oh, Alison's already gone and done that, it looks like – and adjourn to Kindwell, then." He paused. "And I should like to sit in the back with the charming ladies."

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing his father was going to be a nosy bugger; it was the only reason he wouldn't be sitting in the front with Alison, barking out orders and demanding he watch out for all of the pot holes that he wouldn't bother getting repaired. "Father, we've had a long journey – could you be so kind as to leave the sound grilling till tomorrow?" he suggested.

David raised an eyebrow. "I merely wish to get to know your lovely lady more, Henry," he said. "And spend some time with my darling granddaughter."

Harry bit back a sigh. Ever since Portia had charmed the hell out of him on their last visit, his father had been calling every day to talk to her. At least they were good buddies, then, rather than tense and strained like his relationship with his father. He wished, just for a moment, that things were different between them – but then the status quo would be forever disturbed. He couldn't honestly remember a time when his father hadn't been full of quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) disapproval of his choices, his actions, his… everything. Subtle approval over the last few days was already rocking the boat. He didn't want it to tip over entirely.

"All right," Harry finally said. "I'll sit in the front with Alison."

The chit chat and small talk in the backseat was pleasant enough, but Harry almost went over the barrier when he heard his father say, "So, can I be expecting more grandchildren any time soon?"

There was a long, awkward, dead silence, then Ruth said, "No." The word was very quiet, very soft, absent of any kind of malice. "I'm afraid I can't have more children."

"Well, you're still young enough –"

"I… I had cancer," Ruth said, her voice wavering. "I had to have it all removed."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize –"

"No, it's all right," she assured him. "You weren't to know, just looking at me, that I was bald nine months ago and sick as a dog after radiation treatments. It's all right. Really."

David paused, then said, "Are you and Henry disappointed that our Portia won't have a younger sibling?"

Harry sighed. "Father, it doesn't matter," he said. Of course, he'd fantasized of having one or two more children with Ruth, but that had been long before… everything. Now, he was content with his lot. Portia and Ruth were all he needed.

"Of course I am," Ruth said. "I'm disappointed that I'll never get to see Harry holding a child – our child – in his arms. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't. But there's nothing I can do about it, so I won't dwell on bad feelings like that when I can focus good feelings on Portia and Harry."

"I am sorry – I didn't mean to upset you, my dear…"

Ruth shook her head and smiled just a little. "You didn't," she assured him. "There are a lot of things in this life that I'll never be able to do. Makes no sense to be upset about them."

Harry caught the wistful look in her eye as he looked over his shoulder, and he felt a sudden pang of guilt and sadness for causing her pain in the first place. "Father, what will we be having for supper?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

"Oh, Mrs. Whatley roasted a couple of pheasants and made lovely potatoes and roast carrots and beets to go with," David said. He turned toward Ruth and said, "Mrs. Whatley is my cook. She started working for my father and mother when she was fourteen, about a year before Henry was born. We've always kept her on, seeing as how she's bloody well brilliant in the kitchen."

"She really is," Harry agreed.

"Mrs. Whatley's going to teach me how to make custard tarts, mom," Portia interjected.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Ruth said. Harry could hear the smile in her voice. "You told me she makes excellent biscuits and Cornish pasties."

"I like pasties and fish and chips," Portia announced. "Does that mean I'm an English girl now and we can live here?"

David laughed. "If only, kitten – if only."

"If my father here had his way," Harry said, "you'd live here now and be spoiled within an inch of your life eating sweeties and reading through our family's library until your head exploded, Portia."

"You make it sound like a bad thing," David scoffed. "She hasn't been out into the stables yet, mind you – when her granddad gives her a champion horse…"

"Stop trying to buy my daughter's affections when she gives them so freely if only you ask!" Harry exploded. "For god's bloody sake, dad, you can't just give everyone everything they want. It's not on."

Ruth sat forward and touched his shoulder. "Harry, calm down," she said softly. "He didn't mean it like that, I'm sure."

"I don't want a horse anyway," Portia said. "I can't ride them. And they're big and scary and poop everywhere."

Harry placed his hand over Ruth's on his shoulder and said, "Maybe we can go for a quiet ride in the morning, Portia. Just you and me."

"What, not me?" Ruth asked. "I have ridden before, Harry. One of my jobs when Portia was little was as a ranch hand. I worked with the horses."

"Well, then, we'll take a couple of mares out in the morning and tour the parkland," Harry said, squeezing her hand. "A brief respite before the partygoers begin arriving in the early afternoon."

David cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, you see… the Queen and Prince Philip arrived this morning," he said. "And Prince Charles is due in first thing in the morning, along with Camilla, and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and –"

Harry winced and dropped Ruth's hand. "You could have bloody told me – so I could spend my time preparing. Because now I'm going to look like a fool because Portia is American and knows nothing about –"

"They will be charmed by her," David interjected as they turned onto the five-mile wooded drive. "Won't they, kitten?"

Portia said, "Are they very important people? Is that why dad is upset, granddad?"

David said, "They are the most important people in Britain, kitten. And you should be your lovely, charming self for their benefit."

"But you should be very kind," Ruth said softly, pulling Portia over into a gentle hug. "And respectful. You must call the Queen 'Your Majesty', and Prince Philip 'Your Royal Highness'. And you must call everyone 'sir' and 'ma'am'."

"What should I call you, mommy?" Portia asked worriedly.

"Just what you always do, love," Ruth murmured. "Because I'm not important. Not like the others. It's just you and me, little bit."

Harry turned and looked at them, cuddled up in the back seat, and said, "And me."

Portia nodded. "Okay," she said. "I'll be very good."

"I know you will," Ruth whispered, dropping a kiss into Portia's messy hair. "You're my good, precious girl, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh," Portia said. "Granddad, am I sleeping in the same room?"

"Of course, kitten – that's your room now, whenever you visit. Just like your mum and dad will have the white room from here out," David said.

Harry felt a muscle in his cheek twitch. The white room had been where his parents had always stayed during their visits to Kindwell House; it was big, airy, a place for lovers who were in love and didn't mind showing it. He had memories of going in to see his mum and catching his parents snogging and laughing in that room as a small boy. Before she died and everything went bad. He wondered if his father still kept a bottle of his mother's favorite perfume in the room. He wondered many things.

"Where will the Queen sleep?" Portia asked.

David laughed. "We have a special bedroom just for Kings and Queens," he assured her. "But I do admire the way you think, kitten."

Portia smiled widely and burrowed further into her mother's arms. Harry felt a pang of guilt for forcing them both into the middle of this situation, but then he brushed it aside. "Will we need to dress for dinner, father?" he inquired.

"No, it's all quite informal this evening," David said. "Ah, there we are – Janet, what do you think of that sight?" he asked as they came over the hill and the splendor of the huge manor was laid out before them.

"It's a lovely house," Ruth murmured.

"One day, maybe not far distant, you'll share it with my son," David said firmly. "It's much more than 'lovely' – it's a heritage to be preserved. And believe you me, if I could, I would have Henry leave it to Portia rather than Graham."

Harry jerked slightly, uncrossing his ankles and whirling around in his seat as much as he could. "What?"

"Graham and Catherine show no interest in anything to do with Bly," David said dismissively. "They're more interested in the Harrowood lands they will inherit from their mother, Lady Townsend, of course. But Portia… Portia has nothing but this land and this house. I would rather see it pass to her."

"If those are your wishes, father," Harry said, "I'll speak to Graham and see if we can settle things in Portia's favor."

"Those are my wishes," David said firmly. "I want your daughter cared for."

"And what of Catherine and Graham? Aren't they my children, as well?" Harry countered softly.

"Their mother will provide them with a far more substantial cut than I ever could," David scoffed. "Why do you think I wanted you and Jane wed in bliss? Your children would be further up the line of succession and inherit all the wealth of both estates."

"Too bad we loathed one another," Harry said, laughing bitterly.

"She'll be there tomorrow," David muttered. "How could I send invitations out and not invite the Countess of Harrowood? It wouldn't be seemly."

"Thank you for warning me," Harry said as the car pulled to a halt in front of the main entrance. "I will endeavor not to murder my ex-wife in front of the Royal Family."

Ruth and Portia were already out of the car, and Portia was pulling Ruth up to the door and inside. Harry helped his father out of the car and up the stairs one careful step at a time. By the time they were inside, he was exhausted; god only knew how tired his father was, but the old man showed no signs aside from some sweat on his temples that was quickly wiped away. "Father, I –"

"Portia is your greatest triumph, and her mother is your great love," David said firmly. "I am sorry for my part in forcing you into marrying Jane. I am attempting to atone for the sin now, before it is too late for me, Henry. I could kick it off at any time – I want you to know that I care most for Portia of all your children, and not just because she looks like Fiona. Because she is perfect and precious, and she makes you happier than I've ever seen you since your mother died."

Harry nodded and sighed. "Let's get you some supper so you can take your pills," he said softly. "Remember, you shouldn't have wine with them –"

"Hasn't stopped me in twenty years, boy," David said gruffly. "What makes you think it'll stop me today?"

END PART SIXTEEN


	17. Chapter 17

Seventeen:  
>Still Waters Run Deep<p>

Portia pulled Ruth along the corridor and said, "I'm hungry, mom – Mrs. Whatley will have supper ready and laid for us." She opened a set of French doors and tugged Ruth inside. "This is where we eat, mom."

Ruth stopped in her tracks and swallowed hard as she felt many eyes on her. "Uh… hello," she said less than confidently. "I'm Janet – Janet Pearce – and this is my daughter… Harry's and my daughter… Portia. I didn't mean to just burst in like that, but –"

An elderly lady bustled in with another bottle of wine, and she looked up and smiled. "M'lady, Miss Portia, welcome – sit down, wherever you'll be comfortable, and I'll get your plates."

"Thank you, Mrs. Whatley!" Portia cried, dropping Ruth's hand and abandoning her for an open seat right next to the Queen. "Hello," she chirped. "I'm Portia Williams, but my dad says it'll be Pearce soon. What's your name, ma'am?"

Ruth waited for the floor to open up and swallow her whole; this was the worst situation she could possibly fathom to imagine… and it was happening. She couldn't get her hands to stop trembling, and then she felt Harry behind her. "My love, sit down and have a glass of wine," he whispered. "You look pale as a ghost."

"Your daughter –"

"Is fine," he said firmly, grasping Ruth's hand and leading her to the table. He bowed and gestured for Ruth to curtsey, then they took their seats. "Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, I'm pleased to see you again," Harry said, interrupting Portia and the Queen's conversation. "I see you've met our Portia."

Portia's eyes were wide and she said, "Miss Elizabeth, ma'am, you're the Queen?"

"I am," the Queen confirmed. "You didn't know that?"

Portia shook her head and said, "I'm from America, ma'am."

David came into the room and called out, "Alison, get me a bloody bottle of the best burgundy in the cellar. We must toast the happy couple!"

"That's not necessary," Ruth protested.

"On the contrary!" David exclaimed. "Mrs. Whatley's gone to get the food, I expect?"

Ruth shrank back in her chair and let the conversation and merrymaking swirl around her. She ate quietly, watching Harry interact with everyone, envying him his brash charm. At one point, after she'd finished eating, Portia came over and sat on Harry's lap as he told a story of his youth on the grounds of the estate – something to do with a badger and a weasel and a horse – and Ruth found herself pining for the ability to just settle into a place as easily as they did.

She got up and mumbled a hasty, "Excuse me." She made it out into the hallway without knowing which way to turn to look for the loo. She took a left and began looking into rooms. She opened the door at the far end of the hall and stepped into a wonderland of enormous portraits. She looked around at them, her eyes falling on one of a Regency gentleman in uniform who looked just like her Harry, but for a mop of dark hair rather than Harry's near-ginger hair. The ladies were prim and proper, the gentlemen dark and forboding.

On the wall, right beside the door, were two smaller portraits – one of what could only be David, Fiona, Harry and Ben. Harry's hair was wild and red, poking out every which way, and Ben's was much darker, but his eyes were blue rather than Harry's hazel. When everyone commented on Portia's resemblance to Fiona, they weren't joking. Not in the slightest. And Harry favored her strongly, as well.

The other portrait was of a young Harry, a blonde woman – Jane, she guessed -, and two small children she could easily recognize as Catherine and Graham.

Ruth felt sad for him; he looked so distinguished and pleased in that painting, and they appeared to be a content little family. How appearances were deceiving…

And then she thought about having to sit for a portrait like that, to be immortalized on the walls of the room with Harry's ancestors, and she felt less than worthy of the dubious honor. Was that how Harry felt in the face of all of this, as well? Was that why he had tried so hard to keep it a secret for so many years?

"The loo is the other way from the dining room," Harry said quietly from the doorway. "Ruth… love, why are you crying?"

"Because I don't belong here," Ruth whispered, swiping angrily at her eyes, trying to brush away her tears. "I'm not good enough to be on your family wall, Harry. I'm not like… that one over there," she said, gesturing at a 15th century portrait of a beautiful woman adorned in jewels and finery. "Or that one," she said, pointing at an 18th century portrait of a woman with a stunning wig and dress that rivaled that of any French princess of the time. "Or even your mum," she added, pointing again. "I'm not good enough for you, Harry Pearce. I never was."

"Don't sell yourself short," he said softly, pulling her into his arms. "You are a far better human being than I am or ever have been, Ruth Evershed. You are far too good for me. You always have been." He pointed at the 18th century woman on the wall and said, "That's Catherine Bly-Stokesley. She boffed half of the French court, then moved on to Russia. Needless to say, she married into the Romanovs and all of her children were less than legitimate." He pointed to the 15th century woman and said, "And that, my love, is Amelia Jane Bly. There are still stories floating around about her time at Court. She married into the family and wore trousers in private to spite my however-many-greats grandfather because she thought she should have been born a boy instead. Thankfully, he was very pleased to be shagging a girl who wanted to be a boy, and their union was… incredibly fruitful. They had nineteen children, and seventeen lived into adulthood."

"And that's got aught to do with me," she pointed out quietly.

"You and I… we're special. We're really rather normal, aren't we, for all the pitfalls and such?" he said gently. "My mum was a Laird's daughter, and my father fell in love with her at first sight. She wasn't sure she wanted to be an Englishman's wife, but she accepted his suit anyway. My grandfather grudgingly approved of her until the heirs rolled in, then he was very pleased. I was the first Pearce to hold down a real job, to have a real family, torn apart and now pieced back together. In many ways, I'm a man who isn't suited to this family, nor the title I'll be inheriting. But I have you, and you make me want to be a better man, so I may pass this, all of it, down to Portia and her children."

"I'm not like you," she said. "I can't just… be comfortable in a room like that. I tried. I did, but it's like… like they know and are judging me for my faults. I'm not posh, Harry."

"You are my Ruth," he whispered. "And anyone that thinks to push us apart will have a rude awakening. I will not allow you to be treated as anything less than my lady wife; you will be Countess of Bly at my side or it won't happen at all."

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised softly. "I just feel… less than adequate."

"No one in this room felt adequate in their role," Harry said, gesturing at all of the portraits. "No one ever does." He kissed her neck, his arms wrapped around her torso, holding her fast against his belly. "I am sorry you've been ill at ease in my father's home, my love. I didn't mean for that to happen."

"The bloody Queen is in your father's dining room and you didn't even blink," she pointed out.

"Of course not," Harry replied. "She used to be a frequent guest when I was a child. She would pat me on the head and give me a sweetie and send me on my way to play with Charles."

"You see?" she said. "That's what I don't understand – I don't understand how you can be so blasé about your relationships with people like that. What am I to you, then?"

"You are my everything," he said, voice low and firm. "The Queen was my employer; she was a friend of the family and my godmother, for god's sake. You, however, are the only woman I've ever actually loved, and I cannot allow you to hurt yourself to prove a point. Elizabeth was worried about you because you just jumped up from the table after not contributing anything to the conversation. I was worried about you from the time you walked into the house with Portia. You are everything to me, Ruth. I love you." He kissed her neck, then her shoulder for emphasis. "I want you to be happy."

"Well… I'll be happy if you show me where the loo is," she said.

"Of course," Harry murmured. "My pleasure." He released her and closed the door behind them as they walked back down the corridor. He flipped the switch and opened the bathroom door. "I'll be right here when you're done."

"What, you're just going to… hover?"

"So you don't get lost coming back to the dining room," he teased gently.

She went in and used the toilet; while she was washing her hands, Ruth took a good hard look at herself in the mirror. She was much older than she'd been, and battle-hardened. There was a permanent little v-shaped mark between her brows and lines around her mouth. She wasn't the glamorous, beautiful woman that Harry should have on his arm…

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, than another. Harry didn't care what she looked like; he loved her just the way she was. He married her just the way she was. He brought her to meet his father just the way she was.

Harry was waiting when she stepped out of the bathroom. "Better?" he asked.

Ruth paused, hesitated, then nodded. "Yes," she murmured.

He led her back into the dining room on his arm, and quickly apologized for their absence.

"Oh, it's to be expected early on when you're expecting," the Queen said cheerfully. "I do hope you feel better quickly, Janet, dear."

"I'm – but I –" Ruth stammered.

Harry rushed in for the rescue. "Aunt Elizabeth, I'm afraid you've got the wrong end of the stick – Janet and I cannot have more children," he interjected smoothly. "Portia is it for us, I'm sad to say, unless we adopt a child."

"I just have a bit of a headache," Ruth explained away. "I work in PR and I had a particularly not-really-so-very fun morning at work before we got on the train, and no amount of paracetamol is going to help."

"Maybe you should have an early night," David suggested mildly. "I'll make certain that Portia gets to bed in a timely manner if Henry wants to join you."

"No, I think I'll be all right, once I know where our room is," Ruth said quietly.

"I'll show you, mom," Portia volunteered, hopping up from her seat. "I'd like to go to bed now, too. I've got some books in my room, so no one has to worry about me."

"Good night," Ruth said quietly, leaving the room with Portia. They walked up the grand staircase and veered to the left. Portia flipped a switch and opened a door. "Is this my room?" Ruth asked softly.

"Do you really have a headache?" Portia asked.

"Touche," Ruth sighed. "Do you want to put your pajamas on and come snuggle with me a while?"

"Yes, please," Portia agreed. "Miss Elizabeth is nice, mom."

Ruth shook her head and murmured, "Sweetheart, I can't think about that right now. Go get ready for bed and I'll be right here when you're ready." Portia took off like a flash.

Ruth looked around the room; a huge oak 4-poster sat in the center of the room. The walls were white, covered in what looked to be hand-tatted lace that had yellowed with age. The floor was white tile, covered with a white eyelet rug beneath the bed. The linens were stark white, and the furniture was all in the same shades of oak. It was terribly prissy, that room… but quite traditional.

Ruth shed her clothes and changed into a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. She'd just finished unpacking her clothes into the wardrobe and dressers when she came across a bottle of perfume in the wardrobe; it was Vaniglia del Madagascar, and she wondered how long it had been there. That particular perfume went for almost a hundred quid – someone should be missing it by now.

Portia bounced in with a thick volume in her hands and said, "Mom, I just want to cuddle up and read for a while. Can we?"

"Of course, love," Ruth murmured, pulling back the covers and helping Portia up onto the bed.

Harry woke her when he came to bed. "I already took Portia to her room," he said softly. "Go back to sleep, love."

"I'm sorry I behaved like a childish prat," she mumbled, barely awake. "Your godmum must be furious with me."

He gave her a kiss and whispered, "No… she's really not. Go back to sleep, love."

She stifled a yawn, then proceeded to do just what he said.

* * *

><p>It was still dark when Harry woke up. He wasn't quite certain what had awakened him, but then he heard the soft sound of Ruth murmuring in the en suite. She must be on the phone; the bed was still warm where she'd been. He stretched and rolled from his side to his back, listening to his joints clicking as he did.<p>

Ruth came back very quietly, trying to sneak back into the bed without a sound. She'd almost made it under the covers when Harry said, "Hi."

She jumped a mile and exclaimed, "Oh my god, don't do that, Harry!"

"Playing spook again, are we?" he teased, voice thick with forgotten sleep. "Sneaking around and –"

"Catherine rang," Ruth said quietly. "They were in a car accident. Everyone is okay, but Gracie's got a broken arm."

Harry sat bolt upright. "Do we need to make arrangements and –"

"No, they're fine," Ruth assured him. "And I've got Joe to go round and check on them for me. Cate's really shaken up, Harry, but she didn't want to call you because she was afraid you'd blame her for the accident."

"What happened?"

"They were in the middle of the intersection and someone ran the light."

"Why would I blame her for that?"

"You have a tendency to jump to all the wrong conclusions in record time," Ruth said, snuggling up to him. "They're fine, Harry. Even Gracie is okay."

He exhaled weakly and closed his eyes. "I certainly hope so," he muttered. "Are you?"

"I'm worried, but it will be okay," she said dismissively. "I'm fine."

"You're not –"

She kissed him gently and whispered, "Harry, I'm fine."

"I know this has all been a bit of a shock for you –"

"No, Harry, it's… it's me, not you, not your family and friends," she said very quietly. "It's just me being… overly cautious again."

"You're worried that someone will come out of the woodwork?" he asked.

She nodded and sighed. "We're already entirely too prominent in the public eye, thanks to that stupid jackoff Iain. I'm scared that someone will put two and two together and –"

Harry kissed her gently. "If push comes to shove, we do warrant a protective detail," he said softly. "It's our call, however. It's a standing offer from Five."

She exhaled and closed her eyes, leaning into him. He held her, running his hand gently up and down her back. "I just… I've spent so much time worrying and now –"

"Now you can't stop," he murmured. "I know."

He just held her, listening to the sounds of her breathing, hoping that she would fall asleep again. The constant strain of time differences and such was beginning to wear on her; he could see it around the edges in the way she dealt – or didn't deal – with people. He was surprised, but tried not to show it, when a few minutes later, she let her hands wander. He didn't react outwardly when her cool fingers made their way under his shirt, tracing the web of scars that littered his side and belly, but he felt gooseflesh rise in the wake of her touch, and blood flooded his groin.

"Harry," she whispered after kissing the divot of his collarbone, "I want – well… I want to…"

She hadn't initiated sex ever in the history of their relationship; he could see how flustered she was even in the dim light. "Tell me," Harry whispered. "Tell me what you want, Ruth."

She looked up at him, her eyes a beacon in the darkness. "You," Ruth murmured. "I want you." The confidence returned in her declaration.

"You can have me any time you wish," he teased gently.

"Now," she said. "I want you _now_."

"Then all you need do is tell me," Harry said very softly.

"I have," she countered. "And you haven't reacted –"

"I want you to show me what you want," he murmured. "Tell me what you want me to do – I could be content to lie back like this and allow you to ravage me…"

"I don't ravage," she protested.

The very idea of his Ruth being possessive, forthright, and leaving a physical mark on him for all to see made him feel weak; if he hadn't been at attention before, he was now, and hard as a rock. "I wish you did," he confessed softly. "I wish you were comfortable enough to do exactly what you want, Ruth. My Ruth, I've thought about…"

She cut him off with a deep, lingering kiss. The feeling of tongue against tongue, teeth gently coming together as the snog ended, made him groan softly as his skin tingled. He wanted her to touch him; it didn't matter where. He wanted to feel skin against skin, pleasure and passion and all the things that made them them… but he would never force her. If she wanted to step away, he would let her. Above all else, even his, her, their pleasure, he wanted his Ruth to be happy.

"I don't ravage," she murmured against the shell of his ear, "because I can't stand the idea of being the one to leave another mark on you."

Her breath was hot, her lips warm and tender as she spoke, and Harry groaned softly. "Ruth, I…"

Her fingers stroked his belly and she snuggled closer to him. "But I'd love you to do it to me," she confessed softly. "Can I tell you something without you laughing at me?"

"Of course," he mumbled, closing his eyes and willing his body to slow the hell down.

"The first time we met, that stupid bloody interview when you asked me all those lousy questions that didn't make any sense at all, I wondered what it would be like to haul you into the ladies by your tie and shag you senseless," she murmured. "That's… that's why I was stammering like a fool. Not because I was nervous; I was about to faint because I was so close to doing it. You're very, very… irresistible when you get wound up and going."

"I would have been more than willing to adjourn to the ladies," Harry said, his voice catching. "I couldn't tell if you were scared of me or what."

"Or what," Ruth confirmed. She licked her lips and breathed, "I was a little scared of all the shouting when I first started, but then I realized that's just how you were. And then I wondered if you would shout my name when you wanked off… and it was a very dangerous, slippery slope from there."

"Did you think of me when you…"

"When I came?" she said. "Of course. But by the time Juliet Shaw came by, I'd given up hope that you'd ever see me as a sexual being. Especially the way you looked at her – like you wanted to tear her to bits and fuck what was left."

"The tearing to bits part was right," he huffed. "That woman…"

"Let's… not think about her," Ruth murmured. "Point being, by the time we actually got around to having sex, I'd given up hope that it would happen. So when it did, I was just happy for what I got."

"You never told me…"

"Why would I?" Ruth asked very quietly. "Being in love with someone makes you vulnerable. Wanting them so much makes you vulnerable. I couldn't let you see it, Harry, because then we'd both be prone; especially if it was only one-sided."

"It was never one-sided," Harry growled, rolling over and settling between her thighs, letting her cradle him. It didn't matter that they were both still fully clothed; what mattered was the touch, the intimacy, the intent. "I hired you because I wanted to… to… fuck you. I didn't expect to fall in love with you or conceive a child with you. I was being selfish within the boundaries of what the department needed. Whilst, of course, thinking of what stellar blowjobs you might give during particularly boring meetings at Whitehall."

She laughed, then, a strangely high-pitched, nervous laugh. "God, we're a pair," she whispered. "If I hadn't left, would we have got married and raised Portia together?"

"If you hadn't left, I would have wrapped you up in bubble wrap and never let you out of my sight," he muttered. "As it is, I might still just do that."

She smiled and kissed him, igniting a firestorm of passion between them. He was particularly proud of the noise she made when she gave in to the pleasure and let go; somewhere between utter bliss and the highest, softest gasping cry… music to his ears as he strained at the bit. She was so soft, warm, inviting… he lost himself in the sensations of Ruth, giving in to a possessive desperation he didn't want to feel. He knew he'd left marks, bruises and love bites and stubble burn, but she didn't seem to mind.

"No, don't," she whispered when he moved to pull out. "Just hold me, Harry. Like you did at Havensworth."

He had no issues with that, and as such, pulled her flush against him, stroking her back, wishing things had been different for them. Wishing that he'd had the courage to come to her and whisper that he wanted her. Wishing that he hadn't let her walk away after the Cotterdam fallout. Wishing that eleven years hadn't passed. Wishing that he could stop crying.

END PART SEVENTEEN


	18. Chapter 18

Eighteen:  
>Beginning to See<p>

Ruth was downstairs and in the dining room by six; Harry had still been upstairs, snoring, when she'd gotten dressed. Portia was still in bed, as well, so Ruth felt she might get a few minutes of peace and quiet with her tablet and the news. How wrong she was.

The Queen and Duke of Edinburgh were already up and enjoying breakfast under the watchful eye of Mrs. Whatley. Of course, they looked up the moment Ruth came into the room, and she blushed, then dipped a quick curtsey. "I'll go," she said quietly, pouring a cup of coffee.

"No, please stay," the Queen said. "We'll be putting you out in your own home."

Ruth added a splash of cream and a little sugar to her coffee. "It's not really my home," she said. "But I'll stay, if you'll allow me to make my apologies for my… less than stellar behavior last night."

The Queen smiled. "Already forgotten, my dear; you were tired and unwell."

"That's not an excuse for rudeness," Ruth murmured, sitting down at the table. "Harry didn't tell me about you being his godparents. He's… not very big on communication, to be quite frank."

The Duke coughed and said something softly to his wife, then excused himself from the room. Ruth found herself wondering what new offense she'd managed to inflict, and cursed inwardly. The Queen leaned closer and said, "Now that we're alone… as much as we can be, that is… you may ask me any questions your Henry might not answer."

Ruth paused, then frowned. "Well, I know you don't just agree to be someone's godmother."

The Queen smiled. "When one's distant cousin inquires gently, one tends to smile rather more graciously upon it," she said. "Fiona was related through my mother, and she was one of my confidantes until her death."

"Oh," Ruth said quietly. "Well, that's… not what I expected, to be honest."

"It wasn't?"

Ruth shook her head. "Harry isn't like other aristocrats I've met," she said softly. "He never cared about pulling rank or… or abusing his position to make others look poorly."

The Queen nodded. "That would be Fiona's influence," she said. "She wanted her sons to be strong and care about the world around them. She was a good woman, Janet, and she would have loved you."

Ruth took a sip of her coffee and let it cool on her tongue before she swallowed. "I wish I could have met her," she murmured.

"How did you meet Henry?" the Queen inquired, finishing her fruit and laying into a cup of tea.

"Work," Ruth replied automatically. "I used to work at GCHQ. Harry and I… liaised. Rather a lot. And, um, not always to do with work." She looked down into her mug and sighed. "There was an incident and it was thought that I should leave the country for a time. So I did. I just… carried a rather important package with me."

"Portia," the Queen said.

Ruth nodded. "Things happened and I never made it back to Britain," she said with a sigh. "But Harry found me and convinced me that the world wouldn't end if we chased our own happiness for once. And here we are."

"Are you happy?"

"I love Harry very much," she replied. "And it does Portia good to have him in her life."

"That wasn't the question."

"I don't know how to answer the question," Ruth admitted quietly. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no; I don't think anyone is ever blissfully happy all of the time."

"No, I suppose not," the Queen agreed. She finished her tea and rose to her feet. Ruth scrambled to do the same, and the Queen said, "Don't trouble yourself, dear. I've got to read the usual diplomatic rubbish and make a quick telephone call to Number 10. You carry on."

Ruth was left alone in the room with Mrs. Whatley, wondering if she'd imagined the whole thing.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry, Alison, for taking you away from your tasks," Harry said, "but have you seen my wife?" He'd looked through the likely places, and he would be unsurprised if she'd appropriated the Lexus and made a getaway to the station. She was like a skittish filly, still, in a lot of ways.<p>

"She's been out walking in the garden for ages," the butler replied as he continued counting the silver cutlery for the evening's banquet. "She came down for breakfast at quarter past six, and went out about seven-thirty."

Harry glanced at his watch. "That's a long while to be out wandering in this kind of weather," he said reprovingly.

"I provided her with a jacket, brolly, and galoshes, Sir Harry," Alison said. After a pause, he added, "Don't give me that look. The implication of your wife being underequipped to handle the weather is my job on the block. I'm not stupid, mind."

"She tends to do what she wants," Harry said cautiously. "Do you have an extra pair of galoshes?"

"Of course, sir. Am I to take it that this means you are going out to collect your lady?"

"No, it means I'm going to go muck the stables – of course I'm bloody going out," Harry grumbled. "She'll catch her death if she stays out much longer, and we do have guests arriving in short order."

Alison coughed delicately. "Lady Janet is, from what I've witnessed, a very different kind of woman from Lady Jane. You would do well to keep the good one."

"Why do you think I bloody married her?" Harry grunted. "Of course, since then, we've barely seen one another. Galoshes, Alison – just point me in the proper direction."

"Mud room, just off the kitchen. There are about eight pairs in various sizes."

Harry nodded and headed off to the mudroom. He found a pair of galoshes and a jacket that would suffice to keep him dry, and set off in search of Ruth. He found her in his mother's rose garden, sitting quietly on the marble bench, lost in thought as she stared out over the sea of flowers.

"Good morning," he said quietly, and she looked up at him. "Is this seat taken?"

She smiled a little and patted the bench beside her. He sat down, flinching as the cool water seeped into his trousers and hit his skin. "Hi," she said softly. "Your father's gardens are lovely."

"This was my mum's," Harry said. "The roses, I mean. She was particularly fond of them; even created a few new varieties in her day." He frowned. "Have you been out here all morning?"

"Maybe," she murmured. "I had breakfast with your godparents, then got a bit of work done, and then I thought it might be nice to take a walk. Alison got me outfitted and I've been out here ever since."

"It's rather bad weather to be out wandering," he said.

"I know, but I wanted to see the gardens," she replied. "And I just kind of… sat down." She turned her head to look at him and smiled. "I do like it here," Ruth said. "A lot more than I thought I would. And your father's book collection is astounding."

Harry nodded. "I'm sure when we combine your collection with the family collection, we'll have to shore up the house's foundations, lest it crumble and sag beneath the library," he teased gently.

"What?"

"I still have your books in storage," he said softly. It had been his concession to the crushing knowledge that she might never come home again: after a few months, he had put her things away in storage. But he had kept them, praying to a god he no longer believed in that she would come home to him again. "I'll get some shelves and put them in our room at the townhouse before Portia and I go back to Los Angeles."

"You kept my things?"

"Your mother," he replied very quietly, "has been keeping them at hers."

"I… I need to see her."

"She'll be arriving on the ten o'clock train," Harry said. "As will many of our guests that will be staying overnight. Alison and I will be going to collect them at the station." He paused. "I'd ask if you wanted to come, but you might be forced to drive the third car instead of the gardener."

"I want to," Ruth said quickly. "Are we safe to leave Portia behind?"

Harry chuckled. "She's holed up in my father's sanctuary, watching telly with him," he said. "I think she'll be more than all right."

"You think?" she questioned.

He gave her a sternly dour look. "Our daughter is intelligent enough not to get into too much trouble," he said. "Not to mention, the Royal Protection Detail basically have the house on lockdown. If there's so much as a hint of trouble, it won't be from her."

"That's… not exactly what I meant," Ruth said with a sigh. "You're not a mum. You don't understand."

"No, I'm not," he agreed, "but I have been caring for her for some time on my own, and for that, I should be commended, not condemned." He reached over and held her hand, their fingers curving together into an unshakable image of their bond. "Do you want to come to the station with me? If so, we need to go inside and change clothes, as my pants are now utterly soaked through."

She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh. "Oh, Harry…"

He got up and gently pulled her with him, her umbrella covering them still. "Are you nervous about seeing your mother again?" he asked gently.

"No," Ruth murmured. "I'm not. Because she knows what you told her… despite the OSA. And she knows I would never have gone without good reason."

He put his arm around her waist and together, they walked back to the house.

* * *

><p>"The weather really is dreadful," Harry muttered as they pulled into the car park. "Trust my father to pick the worst possible Saturday in August to host a party."<p>

Ruth chuckled a little and said, "It's not so bad, even if no one will go outside and see the lovely fairy lights that your gamekeepers put up."

Harry paused and took a deep breath. That never boded well; Ruth knew that usually that meant he was conflicted and something dreadful was about to pour out of his mouth. "I want to apologize if I offended you last night," he said quietly.

That took her aback. "Offended me? What could you possibly have said that would offend me?" she asked.

"When I said I hired you because I wanted to shag you," he reminded her. "I'm properly ashamed of that, you have to understand, but –"

"Harry," she said gently, "you were being candid and telling me the truth. I'm not offended. We spent eleven years apart; our shared past is more important to me, despite motivations, than the energy it takes to be offended because you were thinking with your prick at the time." She smiled over at him and took his hand in hers for a moment. "Besides, your reasoning served us both well in the end."

"Am I meant to take that as a compliment of my –"

"I wouldn't go that far," she teased gently. "But we do have Portia and now each other. So maybe your dick had a better long-term strategy than you knew."

He sighed, though. "But eleven years… and Iain Lewis later…"

"I never stopped loving you. I just gave up on seeing you ever again so I could tell you I was wrong." She let that sink in for a moment, then opened the car door. "By the way, since the feeling was mutual, I'm even less offended. Because I can't really hold you to task for wanting in my knickers when I wanted in your pants just as much."

He groaned and got out of the car, too. "Of course, you would say something like that as we're going to meet your mother and Malcolm," he whined.

She paused, blushing a bit. "Yes, well…"

He offered her his arm after he hit the alarm button on the key fob. "Onward," Harry said simply but firmly. "There will be plenty of time for dissecting our former lack of relationship later."

"There's always time for that," she replied softly, taking his proffered arm and leaning into him. "After all, that was our relationship until a few weeks ago." She was keenly aware that throwing herself off a cliff and into his waiting arms was the maddest, daftest thing that she'd ever done in her life; but it had been every bit as important as them admitting all that time before that they actually cared about one another. Jumping into marriage head first was merely an extension of that, and it was the only thing she'd done in recent years that made any kind of sense at all. It wasn't mad or sudden: it was a slow burn that had become nothing short of a conflagration. And at the heart of everything, there they stood, trying to make a life for themselves in the face of disapproval and confusion and outright questioning of their choices.

When they got inside, slightly dampened by the weather, there were a few familiar faces waiting to greet them. "Mum!" Ruth cried, abandoning Harry in favor of a crushing embrace with her mother. "Oh, my god, I'm so happy to see you," Ruth whispered, holding on for dear life.

"Not a phone call, not a moment spared when you could think of my feelings," Elizabeth teased very quietly and gently. "Harry had to tell me that I had a granddaughter, and I didn't believe him at first because she looks nothing like you."

Ruth swallowed hard and whispered, "I couldn't. It wasn't safe."

"From what I hear, you overuse and abuse that word," Elizabeth countered. "But that's neither here nor there – where is Portia?"

"Back at the house with her grandfather," Ruth said. "It seemed a waste to break them apart when we needed space in the cars for everyone and luggage, besides."

"Good thinking," Elizabeth said. "Look at you – what have you done to your hair?"

Ruth reached up and self-consciously touched her hair. It was much softer, baby-fine, and ever so much lighter than it used to have been. "Oh," she said very quietly. "It grew back like this. I haven't touched it, and it's not really gone grey yet, either."

"Grew back?" Elizabeth questioned.

"I'll tell you about it later," Ruth promised. "Just not right now."

Her mother huffed. "Oh, fine – but if you tell me something like you shaved your head on purpose, I might have to put you over my knee."

Ruth smiled a little, still feeling a bit like her mother might overreact just ever so slightly when she mentioned in a rather off-handed manner that she'd had cancer but was now in remission. "I'll be right back – Harry needs me," she said, giving Elizabeth a final gentle squeeze before she retreated. Harry was talking to Malcolm and – "Graham, Sarah, I thought you weren't coming," Ruth said as she came up beside them.

"Yeah, well, when Grandfather calls and tells you to be at the platform at a certain time, you do it," Graham said with a lop-sided grin. "How do you feel about the monstrosity?" he asked.

"Oh, he's not that bad," Ruth teased, gently nudging Harry, who glared at her.

"I meant Kindwell," Graham said. "We all know my father is monstrous."

"Couldn't agree with you more, chap," said William Towers, clapping Graham on the shoulder. "You and I – let's chat later. You can arm me with tales of your father's misdeeds and I can ply you with wine."

"I don't think that would be appropriate," Ruth said. "It hardly seems fitting to get blackmail fodder on someone who is no longer employed beneath you, Home Secretary."

Towers gave her a dirty look, then his features softened. "And this will be the lovely Janet, then? A fitting reason to retire, Harry, I must say –"

"Yes, she is," Harry replied, giving her a look that meant 'say nothing'. "Does everyone have their bags, then? We can head to the cars."

Harry immediately put Elizabeth, Graham, and Sarah's bags into the Lexus. He clearly felt badly about exiling Malcolm to the cars with the politicians, but the rule of keeping your family close and your enemies closer clearly applied. "Everybody in," he said.

Sarah was still looking a bit green around the gills, so Ruth decided to sit in the back with her and Elizabeth. "Is your morning sickness still bothering you?" Ruth asked unnecessarily.

Sarah groaned softly and said, "I've been sick all bloody day, Jan. It's awful."

Ruth smiled a little. "I remember when I was pregnant with Portia, the weirdest scents would set me off. One of them was tea, oddly. I was bloody miserable. But it does get better after a period of time, I promise. And then you'll have a beautiful baby to love."

"Meanwhile, I'm bloody miserable," Sarah pointed out with a pout that was worthy of any of the Pearces.

Elizabeth smiled a little and said, "When I was pregnant with you, the very smell of eggs made me projectile vomit. Of course, your father was a sadist and made eggs every morning."

Ruth laughed. "Yeah, dad was very fond of his eggs, wasn't he?"

Sarah curled up her lip and whimpered a bit. "Please don't talk about food."

"I'll see to it that Mrs. Whatley gives you some ginger tea when we get to the house," Harry said firmly from the driver's seat as they bumped and jostled. Ruth was rather afraid that they wouldn't make it that far before the interior of the car was painted with Sarah's stomach upset. "Elizabeth, I've been rather rude – this is my son, Graham, and his fiancée, Sarah. You lot, this is Janet's mum."

"Nice to meet you," Sarah mumbled. "Harry, can you pull over?"

It didn't surprise Ruth at all that Graham was out of the car almost as fast as Sarah was when they stopped on the side of the road. The other two cars continued on past them, and a few minutes passed before they were on their way again. Sarah was much less green at that point and rather more pale, but she looked better.

"I'm sorry," she said in apology.

"No, it's all right," Ruth assured her. "And anyone who tells you it isn't is going to get a bollocking from me."

"She can protect you from mum tonight," Graham pointed out. "God knows I'm going to get run rough-shod over because Cate and the girls aren't there to distract her. Getting into a bloody car wreck on the way to the airport is not on form."

"Have a care," Harry snapped. "Gracie broke her arm, Graham, and your sister has deep cuts across her body from the bloody seat belt. It's nothing to make light of."

"Dad, I wasn't – do you always have to bluster about and be in charge of every bloody thing?" Graham snapped back. "No wonder mum divorced you."

Harry snorted. "_I_ divorced _her_," he countered. "And now isn't the time to do this. If we want to have this discussion, it will be later, after the guests have gone."

Sarah glanced out the window and gasped. "Oh, what a lovely house!"

Elizabeth leaned over Ruth to get a better view out the window. "Oh my goodness, why did no one tell me?" she gasped.

"Oh, if you think the house is impressive, just wait till you meet Harry's godparents," Ruth said wryly, catching his glare in the rearview mirror.

This was shaping up to be a lot of fun.

If by fun, one meant endless hours of torture.

END PART EIGHTEEN


	19. Chapter 19

Nineteen:  
>Shattered Looking Glasses Cut Deeply<p>

While they'd been out at the train depot, the rest of the Royals had flown in via helicopter. Harry shouldn't have been surprised, seeing as how his father had installed matching helipads near the gardens a few years before (he'd seen the coverage in the Daily Guardian, which had speculated as to his father's continued run of ill health and the need for the politicos to come to him rather than the other way around). After ushering everyone inside, he'd been greeted enthusiastically by Prince Charles and Camilla, and been asked to hold the royal babies and give them kisses… all per normal. Ruth had hesitated, hanging back, and Harry had given her more than one suffering look.

Finally, after giving the babies back to their parents, Harry took a step back and said, "And, of course, Your Highnesses, you've yet to make the acquaintance of my wife." He gestured gently at Ruth, who timidly stepped forward. "Janet, you know of everyone, at least…"

"Yes," she said softly. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Harry, I'm going to go check on Portia," she said, retreating.

The tension in the room was palpable, until Charles said, "Well, isn't she just as pleasing as a mouse, Harry!" The teasing in his tone was obvious, and Harry cracked a bit of a smile.

"Yes, well… I'm afraid we've gone and thrown her in the deep end," Harry replied. "Have you been shown to your rooms yet?"

* * *

><p>The next hour or so was a flurry of getting everyone settled in their accommodations, and Harry finally got away long enough to find Ruth and Portia in the library. They were tucked up on the window seat in a blanket as Ruth read softly from a book that had seen many better days. Portia was nearly asleep in her mother's arms, and Harry thought it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. "Are you two hungry?" he inquired. "The lunch buffet will be set up shortly."<p>

Portia jerked out of whatever comfortable space she'd been in, and mumbled, "I'm hungry."

Ruth gave her a gentle kiss and murmured, "Then why don't you go see your granddad and nana and get some lunch?"

"Nana's here?" Portia asked, suddenly back to her exuberant, friendly self. "Oh, goodie! I want to show her my dress for the party. Sarah helped me pick it at the store because daddy was busy buying you a present, mom."

Ruth gave him a reproachful look that he interpreted as 'so much for spy DNA', and he stifled a chuckle. "Sarah and Graham are here, too," Harry said gently. "Why don't you go say hello and have a sandwich and some juice? Mrs. Whatley got some pineapple juice for you especially since it's your favorite."

Portia kicked her way out of the blanket and bounded off, all sign of her almost-nap erased in a few moments. Ruth sighed and looked up at him, closing the old, tattered book. "She's almost too old for this," she said very quietly. "She's always telling me that she's old enough to read to herself now."

"But she loves you reading to her," Harry countered. "She loves you and wants to spend time with you."

"I know," Ruth said. "But it seems like it's all going to be over too soon. Like I'm going to lose my little girl and it hurts already."

"She's just growing up," Harry said. "But you were all she knew for a long time; she'll not forget that in the future, my love."

She sighed and nodded. "I know; or, rather, I tell myself that I know that. I don't know if I really do or not."

Harry reached for the book in her hands, and smiled as he took it from her. "_Through the Looking Glass_," he said, memories washing over him like a balm. "My mum used to read this to me when we came to visit my grandfather. This is a first edition, you know, and well-loved. _Alice in Wonderland_ is lurking around here somewhere."

"This library is full of treasures," Ruth pointed out. "I… I think it wouldn't be so bad, inheriting Kindwell."

Harry smiled and leaned in to give her a kiss. "Yes, well… history is always more when you're not living in it," he teased. "Visits to grandfather and grandmother are magical when you're a child. It's when adulthood and reality set in that you're likely to get knocked for a loop. I've never been fond of the lifestyle, the pomp and circumstance –"

"But it suits you," she murmured. "You were raised to carry an air about you, and you carry it still. Even with a gimpy knee."

He sighed. "Yes, well, I think I've been preparing myself for the inevitable. My father isn't getting any younger, and in point of fact, he's getting rather much worse for wear. He doesn't think he'll be around much longer; he's said as much."

She tangled her fingers with his and murmured, "Then I'm glad you and he have found a way to interact on common ground before it was too late."

Harry sighed and leaned into her, closing his eyes and reveling in the feel of her embrace. "I wonder if it's too little, too late. All of it. Him and me, you and I…"

"No, it's never too late," she murmured, brushing her lips over his skin. "I love you, Harry Pearce."

He held her closer, unable to tell her just how he felt; mostly, it was because he didn't really know. He loved her and Portia with an intensity that surprised him; he was aggrieved that he couldn't communicate his affections adequately. He hoped that she might understand, in time.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth cornered Ruth in the corridor, in spite of Ruth actively avoiding her. "We need to talk," Elizabeth said. "In private."<p>

"I'm not certain that privacy exists here," Ruth pointed out. "Not with the number of Security Service personnel in the building, anyway." She took her mother's hand in hers and lowered her voice to something barely above a whisper. "I know you have questions, and that Harry can't have answered them all. Even if you have signed the Official Secrets Act, technically, I can't answer them all, either."

Her mother nodded. "I understand, and yes… I do have questions."

"Give me fifteen minutes and I'll meet you in your room," she promised. "I've got to check on Portia and David."

"She's a lovely girl," Elizabeth said. "You've done a good job with her."

Ruth smiled sadly. "Maybe so, but… there's going to be some little part of her that will always wonder if Harry didn't love her enough and that's why we weren't together."

"He adores her," Elizabeth said firmly. "You only have to see them together to see how much they love one another. Which is a good thing. But looking at you and Harry… you both seem so reserved. Did you marry him because he's Portia's father or did you marry him because of all of this?" She gestured around them at the opulent paintings, wallcoverings, and antiques.

"I married Harry because I love him," Ruth said, lowering her voice to a dangerous whisper. "I always have done, mum. Since we met, it's been like… like this thing inside me, gnawing away at the parts of me that don't know what's coming. I threw myself at the mercy of the world for him, so he could keep fighting the good fight – don't you dare presume to tell me I don't love that man enough just because we don't drape ourselves in each other's skin in public. For god's sake, we're entertaining the bloody Queen! It's not proper to indulge in full on public displays at the best of times, let alone now. I would never have married him if I didn't love him, especially after so much time." Her blood was rushing in her veins, her heart pumping like she was running a marathon, her face flushed with a combination of anger, shame, and adrenaline. The terror of disclosing just how much she felt for Harry to an outside observer was almost overwhelming, and god knew if she had to do it again…

Elizabeth took Ruth's shaking hand and looked at the rings on her finger. "He has excellent taste." She paused, then glanced up at her. "In both you and jewelry."

Ruth swallowed hard and licked her lips. "I sometimes feel like… I'm not enough for him. Like he settled for second best. Especially now, knowing this is his birthright."

Elizabeth murmured, "Come with me, Ruth. Portia will be fine for a bit longer."

Ruth hesitated, then nodded, following her mother down the corridor and into a bedroom with yellow chintz wallpaper and a four-poster mahogany bed with navy curtains. "This is your room?" she asked.

Elizabeth nodded. "It's too much, really, but the gentleman butler and Harry insisted that it was the one I'd feel most comfortable in." She closed the door and gestured for Ruth to sit down on the bed, rather than the chaise – which was upholstered in blue and white toile, and looked to be older than the French Revolution. It was no wonder she felt uncomfortable – it was like being in a wonderland and not knowing which pieces were meant to be used for their purpose and which were meant merely as decoration. "Oh, Ruth…"

"There are so many things I want to tell you," Ruth admitted quietly. "But I don't know where to begin."

"Tell me… tell me about your hair," Elizabeth said. "You look so much like your father with lighter hair –"

Of course, she'd chosen that. Ruth took a deep breath, then said, "Life hasn't exactly been a picnic for me since I left. Last May… I was rushed to the hospital from work because I collapsed. I'd been having ovarian pain; just thought it was a cyst. I'd been having ruptured cysts since Portia was born, so it wasn't exactly out of the norm, but the pain was overwhelming. It turned out that this time, it was a tumor, not a cyst. We caught the cancer early enough that it could be extracted and I had radiation treatments afterward to make sure it went into remission." She stopped talking for a moment, taking a deep breath before she continued. "I lost part of my hair, and shaved the rest off. When it grew back, it was this color –" somewhere between light and medium brown with red and golden tones, rather than the deep brown of before, " - and quite a bit curlier than it used to be."

Her mother sat there, shock and horror written on her features. Ruth immediately felt like the destroyer of her nice, cozy little world, and she felt a pang of despair deep in her gut. "But you're in remission?" Elizabeth questioned.

Ruth nodded and murmured, "I have to go back in for another scan in a couple of months, but yeah. I'm okay for now." She didn't want to mention how horribly, terribly guilty she felt about surviving when Stephen, dear Stephen, had succumbed to his illness before her eyes at the same time she'd been slowly coming out of the darkness of hers. How even now, she didn't feel like she could ever face Catherine or the girls – her step-daughter and grandchildren, she reminded herself – without feeling that horrible anxiety that they would judge her harshly in beating the odds when he had failed.

It was a long time before Elizabeth finally spoke. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry that you had to go through that alone," she said quietly. "I would have dropped everything and –"

"I wasn't alone," Ruth said. "My friend, Stephen, was going through something similar. We supported each other." She swiped at the traitorous tear that had escaped her eye and began to roll down her cheek. What she felt was nothing compared to the devastation that Catherine was living with every day; what right did she have to think she should mourn him more than his own family? She shook herself and breathed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –"

Elizabeth gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you were ill and hurting and had no one to turn to."

Ruth's lips turned up in wry sadness masquerading as a smile. "That was nothing new, mum. Ever since I walked away from Britain, my existence was solitary and perilous." She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into her mother's arms and holding her tightly.

"Harry told me…"

"I went around Europe for a while," Ruth murmured, her voice sounding hollow to her ears. It was dark, repetitious, memories that she'd glossed over because they hurt too much. "And then I found out I was pregnant. So I took a chance and went across the Pond, thinking that I should hide in the place no one ever thought I'd be. It paid off, and Portia and I were all that mattered after that. I couldn't face the idea of contacting Harry and putting any of us in more danger than we already were." She swallowed hard, a deep well of painful emotion bubbling up and choking her as the thin veneer of her fragile state began to crack and break. "Mum, I – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Elizabeth frowned and held her closer. "No," she said softly. "What's past is past and you shouldn't apologize for making decisions you think were right."

Ruth closed her eyes, refusing to look at her mother. "I hate Janet Williams so much… I do. She's brash and full of confidence that she doesn't feel. It's so exhausting, trying to be someone you aren't for years and years at a time. I want to be Ruth again; but Ruth Evershed is dead. She's a posthumously-pardoned murderer, and I can never be her again. And what's in a name? Everything."

"Nothing," Elizabeth murmured. "Your name is nothing, so long as you're the same person. You're still my Ruth, no matter that you're calling yourself Janet now. Be true to yourself, and sod the others."

"I don't know why Harry still loves me," Ruth whispered. "I've done things – things I'd rather not remember. And he doesn't judge me, just accepts them, even though he knows what a horrible person I am. He's seen the worst of me and wants more – I'm not worthy of his love, mum. I think, some day, he's going to wake up and realize what a shit human being I am and walk away from me. And if that happens, he's going to take Portia away from me –"

"Ruth," Elizabeth said very softly, "you didn't see him, when he was mourning you. There is no way he's going to let you go now, even if you push him away. He's made his choice, and so have you. You're together, and marriage – life together – is a game of give and take. You can't expect the road to be easy, but you can't give up before it's even begun."

Ruth turned her rings around and around on her finger, feeling her heart clench as she did. "I love him," she said honestly. "I can't… I can't give him up now. Not after everything we've been through; together and apart."

"Then don't," Elizabeth advised gently. "Just… take it one day at a time. Don't overreact to the small things."

"Tonight is going to be an utter farce," Ruth said very quietly. "I don't know if I hate the idea of this party more or less than schmoozing with piss-poor actors and producers who would rather look down my cleavage than look at my face." She exhaled and mumbled, "I hate my job. I hate everything about it. It's just another piece of Janet Williams that Ruth Eversheld can't abide."

"Then I think… and you don't have to listen to me," Elizabeth said gently, tucking her dark hair threaded with silver behind her ear, "that you need… you should… make a change."

"I have commitments," Ruth mumbled. "A house and a mortgage and bloody awful medical bills –"

"And?"

"And… how can I just dump that on Harry? I've already dropped a child in his lap. A child he never wanted." Ruth swallowed hard. "It was very selfish of me to bring her into the world. I never thought I'd see him again, not after I went into exile. I wanted a piece of him to carry with me, a reminder… and it was selfish and stupid of me."

"No," Elizabeth murmured. "You aren't selfish. You've done your very best for that little girl and she is so loved – especially by her father."

"He had no idea," Ruth whispered. "He's such a good man, though. He never asked for a DNA test or –"

"Because it's obvious to anyone with eyes in their bloody head," Elizabeth said with a tinge of exasperation in her voice. "You were never one to revel in depression," she said sharply. "So wash your hands of it, Ruth. Take control of your life again – maybe you can't be Ruth Evershed again, but if you're so miserable, make a change."

Ruth finally pulled away from her mother and whispered, "I'm sorry I've upset you, mum. I didn't mean to."

"You haven't," Elizabeth assured her. "But please consider what I'm saying –"

Ruth nodded and exhaled weakly. "I will," she murmured. "I have to go check on Portia now." She couldn't handle the thought of compromising herself even more thoroughly than she already had. She didn't want to think about how broken, how full of despair she really had become. She couldn't handle another moment of reliving the past or her fears for the future.

She broke away and left in a hurry. Down the stairs, around the corridors, she found Portia and David tucked up in the smoking room with the television and DVD player. Neither of them looked up from the movie, and she felt a pang in her heart, knowing that she'd kept her daughter from her family for so long. It was painful, the knowledge that she'd probably hurt Portia by doing so.

She retreated to the White Bedroom, finding Harry on the phone. He glanced up and mouthed, "Catherine." Then he said, "Catie, don't worry so much – you and the girls just rest. Grandfather knows why you aren't here, and he's more upset that you were still insisting on trying to come after that. So just sit back and let Joe take care of you and the girls, if he's so inclined."

Ruth settled onto the bed and closed her eyes, curling in on herself and letting the disjointed sounds of his voice soothe her into a fitful doze.

* * *

><p>He woke her up with a gentle kiss; she startled and inhaled sharply, her eyes widening in panic before she realized it was just him. "Are you all right?" Harry asked very gently, knowing that she wasn't. There was something so deeply wrong that she would never tell him the truth.<p>

So it came as a surprise when she shook her head and simply said, "No. I'm not all right." She rolled over and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her face into his belly.

He wasn't sure if she was going to cry or not; he had no idea what was going through her mind, had no insight into her psyche. "Is there anything I can do?" Harry whispered, gently stroking her hair, her neck, her shoulders and back.

She shook her head and inhaled deeply, shakily. "No," she whispered. "It's… I can't talk about it anymore. It hurts too much."

His fingers stilled on her back; she'd not shared even that much before. "Okay," he murmured. "I'm sorry I can't help."

She pulled away and looked up at him. "I don't want to hurt you anymore," she whispered. "You or Portia. I'm sorry that I'm such a – a – a twat."

"You are anything but a twat," Harry said. He was suddenly keenly aware of the tension in her body, and he recognized it for what it was; he had looked in the mirror and seen the self-blame and hatred for years and years, and seeing it shadowed in her eyes broke his heart. "Oh, Ruth…" he sighed.

She interpreted his words as pity, and she pulled away abruptly. "Don't," she whispered. "You have no idea. Just don't."

"Don't what?" he shot back.

"Don't… look at me like that. I don't need your pity."

"Ruth, I've never pitied you," Harry said firmly. "Not ever. Most especially not now. I do understand; you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." He reached over and took her hand, threading her fingers through his, pressing their palms together. "Just know that I'm here when you're ready."

He watched emotions dance across her face, each chased by the next, fleeting moments of pain, sadness, fear, and eventually… resignation. She glanced away from him, and when she looked back, the blank mask was back in place, the only hesitance being a flash of nervousness in her eyes. "I may never be ready," she whispered.

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her gently. "I love you," he whispered against her lips. It was simple, honest, brutal. Stripped of his secrets and the lies of spydom, all he had left was the wreck of a soul he might have tricked himself into believing he had. And that soul that may or may not exist belonged to her. He had nothing left to give but his love, and if she ever looked at him too closely, she might realize that he was just a broken old man. Such a beautiful, vibrant woman had chosen him, with all of his faults and failings; the notion that she could up and leave him again hurt him deeper than he would ever admit.

Her face softened. "I love you," she whispered back in earnest. She kissed him this time, a deep kiss filled with longing and a touch of stardust; she bewitched him in just a moment, a fleeting second in time that he wished he could capture and bottle it for posterity.

She broke the kiss and pressed her forehead against his, their warm breath mingling, their lips only a hair's breadth apart. When she spoke, it was like the earth tilted a bit, shifting its axis. "You're entirely too good for me, Harry."

He inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent of her; skin, musk, a hint of perfume and soap, the salt of her tears shed and wiped away. "I think you'll find that we're no better than one another," he replied very quietly. "

And with that quiet admission, he felt a bit of the darkness between them begin to ease, like a black curtain beginning to rise.

END PART NINETEEN


	20. Chapter 20

Twenty:  
>A Party Ill Met<p>

Ruth came out of the en suite and Harry's eyebrows rose up into his hairline. "Oh my," he said.

"Stop gawking and get your tie on," she instructed brusquely, but with a hint of a smile. She'd known when her rented PA had picked this dress that it would more than meet with his approval – he did love the color red, after all. It had inch-thick straps and a deep-cut square neckline that left a tantalizing but not outstanding amount of cleavage on display. The hem fell just below her knee, with a three-inch slit at the back so she could move; the bodice and skirt, otherwise, were darted and fitted tightly against her curves. An overlay of black lace dulled the brightness of the color, but the overall effect was stunning. She had a pair of black Louboutins to kick back in, but she'd not put them on yet. Her jewelry was minimal, just her rings, as she'd not packed the expensive jewelry for the trip.

She watched him put his tie on and straighten his cuffs, then smiled. "You look very dashing," Ruth murmured.

"And you look absolutely –" Words seemed to fail him, so he just gestured at her. "You look – amazing."

She smiled and gave him a kiss. "I hope it's not too much," she said. "You did say semi-formal."

"It's perfect," he assured her gently. "But you don't have any jewelry –"

"I'm fine," she replied.

"No, let me go see my father and get the key to the vault," Harry said firmly. "You just wait here."

Ruth sighed and he was gone before she could protest, really. She hated that he was going so far out of his way for her; what was so wrong with her not wearing any jewelry, anyway? By the time he came back, she'd managed to work herself into a nervous state, pacing the floor of their room like a caged animal. "Harry, you didn't have to –"

"No, but I wanted to," he said with a small smile. He held up a rather large box and two smaller ones. "Father has had these locked away since my mother died," he explained. The large box contained a delicate bib necklace of silver filigree wire studded with pearls and rubies. The smaller boxes contained a bracelet and earrings to match. "I would be honored if you'd wear them – so would my mother, if she were still with us." Harry's voice softened and he said, "She always used to tell me that I should find a woman of honor and integrity to fall in love with, and when I did, I would know it was real, true love."

Ruth's lips twitched. "I take it she never met Jane, then?" she teased.

"God, don't remind me," he sighed. "She would have been furious with my father for pushing that."

"Harry, I can't wear your mother's jewelry in good conscience –"

"It's yours now, if you'll have it," he said quietly. "Please. I want you to have it and to wear it tonight."

"Harry, I –" In that split second, she decided that Janet could go fuck herself. Ruth wanted everything that Harry Pearce was offering her; she would not allow anyone, let alone herself, to tell her that she was not entitled to claim what was now hers. "All right," she said softly.

His eyes sparkled at her acquiescence, and he smiled. "Of course, you don't have to wear it all," he teased, pulling the necklace out and draping it carefully over her collarbone and fastening it in the back. "That's perfect."

"Thank you," she said softly. She slipped into her heels and bit her lip. He watched her intensely, and she murmured, "What?"

"Nothing," he said. "Except that I'm madly, hopelessly in love with you and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life."

"You don't have to snowball me," she murmured. "I already married you."

"I'm not snowballing," he said. "It's the honest truth."

He was about to say more, probably something even more damning and intense, but there was a hurried flurry of knocking on the door. "Mommy, daddy, can I come in?" Portia cried through the wood. "Please?"

"Come in, Portia," Harry called.

The door burst open and their daughter flew into the room exuberantly. "Oh, mom, you look _fabulous_," Portia sighed happily as she flopped onto the bed. "You look nice, too, daddy," she added.

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. Ruth eyed him, then Portia, and then she said, "Well, you look a bit of a mess, Portia, love – come here and let me straighten you up."

Portia's dress was a simple pink and yellow floral dress, accented with black tights and shoes. Her hair, however, was an utter mess, and Ruth found herself reaching for a comb. It took a few minutes, but she wrangled Portia's thick, curly hair into a partial plait. "Much better," she said cheerfully.

"I asked nana to help with my hair but she made it worse," Portia complained.

"Nana never had to deal with curly hair like yours," Ruth said gently. "But I'm glad she tried to help you anyway, sweetheart."

Portia nodded and smiled. "Mom, granddad said we should all come downstairs together, as a family – you and me and dad," she said.

"Of course he does," Harry replied with a sigh. "He wants to show us off, doesn't he?"

Portia grinned at him and said, "He said there's gonna be a big cake for you and mom, because you got married."

"Dear lord," Harry said, throwing his hands heavenward. "Did you never learn to keep a secret, Portia?"

She stopped, looking stricken, and frowned at him. "Mom and I don't have secrets from each other," Portia declared with the innocence of a child. "Secrets are poison."

Ruth looked at Harry apologetically; he looked positively apoplectic at that disclosure. "Sometimes, surprises aren't secrets like that," she said gently to her daughter. "I think your granddad wanted the cake to be a surprise."

Portia paused, then nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the surprise," she said very contritely. She licked her lips nervously and then added, "Maybe you should pretend to be surprised about the cake?"

Ruth smiled down at her daughter and said, "I think I can manage that, love. Are you ready to go downstairs now?"

"Granddad said it's an adult party and I have to go to bed right at nine," Portia said. "But my bedtime is eight."

"He's letting you stay up late," Harry said. "But if you want to go to bed because you're tired, you can. Just let your mum or me know and we'll tuck you in."

Portia smiled adoringly up at her father and Ruth's heart melted into a little puddle of goop. "Okay, daddy," she agreed, taking his hand in her tiny one. "We should go downstairs now, shouldn't we?"

"We should," Harry agreed, the ruddy flush of his skin having settled as his blood pressure went back down. Ruth could tell he'd been working on reducing his stress levels since he'd left MI-5, but he still had his moments of temper.

He offered his right hand to Ruth, since his left was carefully cradling their daughter's small hand. Ruth had a moment's pang of dismay, wishing that Portia would grow; she'd been picked on in school for her tiny stature, but Portia just blew it off and went to play with Charlie instead. Ruth doubted that she would ever get as tall as she was, and it wasn't as if she was very gifted in the height department, either. The poor girl looked like she was maybe four or five, not almost eleven. But regardless, she was perfect and she was theirs – a product of a less than perfect union, by all means, but made beautiful by all of its imperfections.

"Let's go, then," he said cheerfully as if he was about to descend into a room filled with axe murderers and thieves.

The three of them walked down the hallway and Harry paused at the landing before they began to descend the staircase. "Before we go down, I want you both to know how much I love you – no matter what's said or implied tonight, I love you both more than my sad, worthless life."

"Not worthless," Ruth said softly, giving him a gentle kiss. "Never worthless, Harry."

"I love you, too, daddy," Portia insisted, squeezing his hand and smiling up at him.

He exhaled heavily, then said, "I suppose we should go down. This is the part I dislike the most; the walking into a room and everyone is judging you because you chose to wear a navy tie on Tuesday when everyone knows you're meant to wear grey."

Ruth smiled a little and gave him another peck on the cheek. "We're making your father happy, love," she murmured. "It's a small price to pay, I think."

"We'll see how you feel later," he muttered. "Onward." They strode down the stairs as quickly as Ruth's shoes and Portia's short legs would allow, meeting up with a pulsating crowd at the base of the steps.

Portia immediately broke away and made a beeline for David, who was deep in conversation with several people Ruth didn't know. Ruth merely stayed with Harry, their hands clasped together gently, his thumb making soothing circles on the back of her hand.

They hadn't quite made it either to a safe haven or the wine table when David clapped his hands together loudly and the room fell silent. "We're all gathered here today to celebrate a few things," David announced loudly. "Firstly, my grandson, Graham, is getting married to a lovely young woman named Sarah. Secondly, we're going to begin to explore operating Kindwell House as a high-end bed and breakfast cum wedding venue. And thirdly – most importantly – my son, Henry, has very recently married a very lovely woman named Janet. I hope that their marriage will be longer lived than his first, and to better effect." He looked down fondly at Portia and smiled.

"Congratulations," came the chorus.

"And now, wine and nibbles – there will be dinner and dancing later," David said cheerfully. "How about it, Portia? You want to dance with your old granddad?"

Portia smiled and said, "But you have to use your cane, granddad – I'm not big enough to hold you up."

A titter of laughter went through the crowd, and Harry took the distraction that Portia afforded them and led Ruth to the wine. "You're going to need it," he murmured very closely to her ear as he passed her a glass of white. She shivered and blinked, taking the chilled glass from his fingertips and taking a quick sip. He grabbed a glass of rose and gently hooked her arm through his. "If we must do this, I'd prefer it to be together," he whispered.

"Yes, but you can't follow me into the ladies," she teased equally softly. "So if needs must –"

He chuckled and gave her a kiss. "Yes," he agreed, "it would be frowned upon if we both went to the bathroom together."

"Harry!" boomed William Towers as he came over for more wine. "Congratulations – this must be the lovely lady wife, then…"

Ruth smiled a little and shook his hand when it was offered; Towers' handshake was overly strong, his grip crushing, but it didn't have the vigor that such a shake should have. In fact, it was rather limp like a fish, despite the grip. "Home Secretary," she greeted in a perfectly even tone, "it's a pleasure to meet you formally."

Towers blinked, then gasped, "You were at the train station to pick us up! Good god, you clean up well."

Harry gritted his teeth and drank some more of his wine. Ruth kept the smile plastered on her face. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>Malcolm steered Ruth away from the crush of people and offered her another glass of wine. "You're holding up remarkably well," he said kindly.<p>

"This is second nature now," she replied softly. "The last three years, I've been working in PR. It's long days and then extravagant nights. More than once, I've had to polish someone's image after a drug or alcohol-related arrest. I've had to spit-shine someone's ego as they're being hauled off to rehab by the men in white coats." She smiled but it was rueful. "I hate that I've profited from someone else's misery."

Malcolm's answering smile was a bit sad. "You always were too kind for your own good," he said gently.

"Oh, no, I'm not saying that I haven't earned my pay," she interjected. "I just hate the way I've manipulated the system in order to acquire said pay." She sighed and looked over at Harry, who was speaking to more people she hadn't been introduced to. Portia was standing right in front of him, her hands up in his as he rocked her back and forth in her standing position; she watched them in fascination, wondering when he'd learned that their daughter did that when she was restless and bored but didn't want to leave the comfort of her parents or distract them too much from what they were doing.

"He's very good with her," Malcolm said, following her gaze.

Ruth nodded and murmured, "I feel very guilty."

"For what?"

She shrugged and sighed. "Keeping them apart. Not trying harder to come home. Take your pick."

"It wasn't safe," he replied. "Even now, it's risky."

She shook her head. "Not here," Ruth murmured. "We'll have dinner before I leave for Paris and we'll talk about it."

Sarah wandered up with a glass of juice in hand. "I feel redundant," she muttered. "So we'll just hide in the corner, then."

Ruth smiled a little and put her arm around her future step-daughter-in-law. "You feeling better tonight?"

"Oh, much," Sarah replied. "Once I was on dry land again, the nausea went away."

Malcolm cleared his throat. "I hear ginger helps," he said mildly.

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "I'm not sure even that would help, Malcolm," she said. "I can't even take a car drive for more than a few minutes without feeling like I'm going to die. The train was torture." She squeezed Ruth and sighed. "Our men look so thrilled, don't they?"

Ruth sipped her wine and sighed. "They do, don't they?"

"I haven't seen Jane and Alyssa yet," Sarah commented. "David said they'd be here."

Ruth paused. "Jane and Alyssa?"

"Graham's mum," Sarah replied. "And her partner."

Ruth felt the blood drain out of her face. "Harry didn't mention she'd be here –"

"Well, I think she only accepted because she wants to see Catherine and Graham – but Cate's not here," Sarah said with a sigh. Her gaze flitted around, and she groaned. "Speak of the devil… they've just gotten here." She tried to gesture at a tall, willowy blonde woman and the shorter, well-built redhead that had just entered the ballroom without looking like she was pointing. "Late – as usual. When we went round for Christmas, the goose was hours late because Alyssa forgot to put it in."

Ruth swallowed hard and glanced at the clock on the wall; nearly 8 o'clock. She hugged Sarah and said, "I really need to make sure that Portia gets her supper before she goes to bed. Malcolm, I'll catch up with you in a bit." She headed over to Harry and Portia. "Sorry to interrupt," she murmured to the group. "Come on, love – it's time to get your supper," she said gently to Portia, taking her daughter's hands from Harry's. "You've been very well-behaved tonight," she commented as they walked to the buffet to get some food.

"Granddad said I should be on my best behavior," Portia said. "Because it's how a lady acts in public."

Ruth didn't know what to say to that, honestly. "Well, that's true, but you're also a young girl and I don't think he expects you to be perfectly behaved," she finally said. She guided Portia over to one of the dinner tables and sat her down before putting the plate before her.

"I don't want to disappoint him – or daddy," Portia said.

Ruth's heart and stomach clenched in tandem, making her a little queasy. "Oh, sweetheart," she sighed. "I'm so sorry –"

Portia looked at her for a moment, then said, "For what?"

"Nothing," Ruth said quickly. "Eat up."

"Can I have some tea, mom?" Portia asked. "Mrs. Whatley makes it like I like."

"Of course, love," Ruth murmured. "I'll go find her and see if she can make some for you." She straightened up and made her way to the kitchen, finding Mrs. Whatley sitting at the island, reading a magazine. "Hello," she said with a small smile.

Mrs. Whatley nearly jumped out of her skin. "M'lady, don't do that!" she cried. "I'm not exactly a spring chicken… you'll give me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry," Ruth said. "I didn't mean to startle or upset you – I know you're waiting to serve the desserts until later. It's just… Portia asked if you'd make her a cup of tea. I know it's terribly inconvenient –"

"Nonsense," Mrs. Whatley replied. "I'll make a pot and bring it out for Miss Portia soon as." She smiled and added, "It's been quite some time since we've had such a party here, m'lady. I think the last time was Miss Catherine's sixth birthday. Lord Pearce brought in the circus then, quite literally. She was fascinated with the elephant and the old gamekeeper and gardeners were quite put off cleaning up after one."

Ruth bit back a laugh and said, "I'm sure Harry was just as annoyed as they were –"

Mrs. Whatley's smile vanished. "He wasn't here," she said bluntly. "He was in Germany on business."

"His job was… challenging," Ruth said evasively.

"It doesn't excuse all of the pain and suffering he put those children through," Mrs. Whatley said firmly. "I don't understand how –"

"Tea," Ruth said, finally finding a bit of a spine. "Please. Portia will be going to bed at nine, and I'm trying to get her fed before bed." She knew how ashamed Harry felt about how he'd treated his children; she was maybe the only person on earth who knew the truth of how deep the rabbit hole went. She was also not about to judge his sins in public for the world to see, not when she'd taken him and all of his baggage on and begged for more if only he wouldn't leave her behind again. How could she blame him for doing what he thought he must do when she'd done the very same thing?

Portia was finishing up her roast beef and potatoes when Ruth came back. She hadn't touched the carrots at all, and Ruth sighed. "Carrots, too," she said firmly. "Mrs. Whatley is making your tea, but you'd better eat your carrots if you want dessert."

Graham came over and sat down beside his sister. "Your mum's right," he said.

"I don't like them," Portia sighed. "They taste funny."

Graham winked at Ruth, then said, "You know, if you want to dance with grandfather and me, you'd better eat those up."

"Oh, Graham, you're looking well –"

Graham looked up and craned his neck. "Mum, I –"

Ruth felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. "Portia, love…"

Mrs. Whatley bustled up with a pot of tea and a smile. "Milky sweet tea and biscuits for Miss Portia," she declared. "Oh, Lady Jane – I didn't know you'd arrived! It's good to see you."

Jane Townsend's smile was glacial. If Ruth had thought that Ros Myers and Juliet Shaw had been ice queens, they had nothing on her husband's ex-wife.

And she was utterly, heart-stoppingly beautiful to boot.

There was a slight sneer twisting her lips when she said, "I suppose you're the new model, then?"

END PART TWENTY


	21. Chapter 21

Twenty-one:  
>Loud and Clear<p>

Ruth paused, looked her up and down and replied, "And you must be Jane." She hoped her words didn't sound caustic – the last thing she wanted was to provoke the woman.

"It's rather unfortunate for Henry to have picked two women with nearly the same name," Jane commented dryly.

"He calls me by my middle name," Ruth replied. "Portia, finish your carrots," she said in a calmer, gentler tone, "and then you can dance with Graham and granddad."

Portia stabbed a carrot viciously with her fork and made a face as she ate it. Of course, she was also watching Jane and her mother with rapt fascination, as well. It was almost laughable.

Graham cleared his throat and said, "Mum, have you gotten anything to drink yet? Or anything to eat?"

"No, I wanted to see you," Jane said simply. "Where is your sister?"

"She couldn't make it," Ruth spoke up. "There was an accident and Cate and Grace were both injured. It made no sense for them to try to get onto a plane after that."

"And she couldn't have called me to –"

Before she could stop herself, the words were already out between them. "Did you ever think that maybe she doesn't want to talk to you?" _More balls than brains_… "After Stephen died, you didn't even acknowledge that he'd existed. It's no wonder she lives in California."

Jane's eyes were dark and cold. "Who are you to tell me –"

"I'm her best friend," Ruth said simply. "I'm the one that held her and comforted her and told her that everything would be all right soon, even though I hadn't a bloody clue if it was true or not. Because that's what you do for the people you care for." She glanced down and saw that Portia had finished her tea and her carrots. "Up with you, love," Ruth murmured. "Go get your granddad to turn on the music and dance with you."

As soon as Portia was gone, Jane said, "You do realize you look ridiculous, don't you? What a completely inappropriate dress for a party with the royal family in attendance –"

Ruth turned to face her and said, "I don't care. If you think that taking pot shots at me because I'm the new Mrs. Pearce is going to make you come out smelling like roses, so be it. But I don't care about your opinion. You lost your right to Harry when you signed the divorce papers, and what he and I get up to is no concern of yours now."

"Except it is my concern when David decides he's going to change the succession and write my children off completely," Jane hissed. "How dare you just waltz in here, bat your eyes at him like a bloody cow, and put your little bastard in his head as an appropriate –"

Ruth blinked. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said.

"Oh please," Jane snorted. "Like you didn't marry Henry for his money and his father's prestige –"

"Actually," Ruth interrupted, "I didn't know until two days ago about the peerage. And even if I had known before then, it wouldn't have mattered. I didn't marry Harry because he's the heir of something. I married him because I bloody love him. And, really, I have no idea what you're talking about David changing the succession." She looked over at Graham, who shrugged in non-committal reply. "Of course Graham should have it all as the eldest son – that's how it works, isn't it?"

Jane crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Yes, typically, that's how it works," she muttered. "I was an only child, so mine passed to me. And when I die, Harrowood will pass to Graham."

Ruth nodded. "Which is as it should be –"

"But David and Henry are plotting between them," Jane said irritably. "Trying to write Graham off the succession in favor of Portia Williams."

Ruth blinked. "I swear I know nothing about this," she said firmly. "Why would – why on earth would they do that without talking to me?"

That irritating smirk came back onto Jane's lips; Ruth restrained the urge to wipe it off her face entirely. "Because, my dear, you don't matter," Jane said. "You'll learn that soon enough; no matter what Henry says, he only wants you for sex and the ability to provide an heir to the estate. And I've already provided the heir, so all he wants is you in his bed. Other than that, you are nothing."

"That isn't true," Ruth said, hearing and feeling her voice falter. "It isn't," she tried again, but the words weren't any stronger than they had been before. She took a step backward and then turned away, refusing to listen to Jane anymore.

"It's a good trick, though," Jane said, "claiming he's the father of your child."

The dam broke; Ruth whirled around and was in Jane's face as quickly as she could move. She shoved the older woman harshly against the wall and snarled very quietly, "Do not ever presume to know what you have no idea of. I am not some naive little twit you can push around, Jane."

"Janet, let go of her," Graham said, and she felt his hand on her wrist, trying to loosen her grip. "Please. Before someone sees and you get carted off."

Ruth released Jane and clenched her teeth hard, trying to remain calm. Jane was spluttering, and Ruth said very quietly, dead quietly, "Portia is Harry's child." And with that, she walked away.

She wound her way through the crowd, pausing for a moment to watch Portia and David dancing. But as soon as she caught herself, she kept going. Harry followed her and she pulled away from him when he touched her. "No," Ruth exhaled forcefully.

He put his hands up in surrender, and she backed away. "I should never have let Jane get that close to you," Harry said quietly.

"She's made it abundantly clear what I am to you," Ruth spat. "I'm just some shag of convenience – a gold-digging trashy whore you just so happen to love enough to marry."

"That isn't true," he hissed. "Lower your voice."

"I fell into bed with you within hours of meeting you again – and then I just let you whirl me around a bit and put rings on my finger and wedding bells and – fuck you, Harry," she whispered, the words harsh and angry. "I'm a joke to everyone here, aren't I?"

"If you are, then so am I," he growled. "I don't care what the rest of them think about us. Let them think it. They're wrong. Do you hear me? Do you understand me? The only thing that matters is us – you and me. And we want to be together. We are together."

"I don't want you and David to change the succession," she said sharply. "This goes to Graham or no one –"

The worry lines between his eyes grew, deepened, and his eyes darkened with anger. "Is that what she told you? She was preying on your naivety, Ruth – father and I would never change anything without permission from all parties involved. That means consent from Catherine, Graham, and you."

She tilted her chin up stubbornly and said, "You'd better mean that or I'm going to give you a punch on the nose."

"I mean it," he said firmly.

She pulled away from him and began to pace. "I love you," she said, trying to reason it out in her head. "I do – but all of this, I don't know if I can accept it or thrive in it."

"I'm not asking you to," he shot back. "I want you to be happy; this doesn't make me happy. Why would it make you so?"

"I'm not the same person I was," she said very quietly. "How can I be, on my own for eleven years with a curious little girl who only ever wanted you and me to be together, for us to be a family, and I let her down. I let myself down – god, Harry, I let you down," she exhaled in a rush of agony. "And now this, all of it – I can't let you down again. I can't."

He pulled her into his arms and held her close, shielding her from everything. "You have never let me down, my love," he whispered, his hands running up and down her back, comfortingly. "Not once. Well… honestly, when you refused my offer of a second date, but that's just my ego being bruised."

"But I kept our daughter from you –"

"Out of fear," he whispered. "Out of necessity. Not out of malice."

She shook her head and snuggled closer into him, closing her eyes, listening to his heartbeat through the fabric of his clothes. "No, god knows… if I could have come home, brought her with me, I would have. I would've given anything to be able to see your face when we'd come home together."

"I don't care about that," he said gently. "What matters isn't the past – the whatifs and wherefores – but us, now, here… together. We've got a beautiful child together, Ruth, and nothing will change that. I love you. Nothing will change that. We're married. And unless you plan on being a twat, nothing is going to change that."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning… I won't ask you for a divorce," he said very quietly. "It would be balls in your court."

"The only balls I want in my court are yours," she said very firmly.

"I asked Jane for the divorce," he admitted. "She'd been shagging the nanny… Alyssa. The woman she's here with tonight. They made a bloody go of it afterward. Turns out she only married me at all because her parents forced her to, rather than have her go off onto the Continent and live a rather bohemian lesbian lifestyle. Obviously, neither of us were very happy together."

"You had your affairs and she had hers," Ruth murmured. "And neither of you forgave the other."

He huffed. "It's hard to forgive the mother of your children for fucking another woman under your roof, sometimes within earshot of the children. I don't know if it would've been better if she'd been seeing a man. I don't know. It all hurts desperately when you find out that you aren't enough."

She laughed softly. "God, that's ironic… Harry Pearce being annoyed at not being enough for someone."

"The only woman I'm worried about not being man enough for is Portia," he said very quietly. "I'm a piss-poor father and I don't want to damage her."

She gave him a gentle kiss and whispered, "I love you. You are more than enough for me, Harry Pearce."

David grunted, "There you two are… there's cake and you two just up and disappeared." He hobbled up behind them and said, "And Jane is a bloody nuisance. I can't believe I pressured you into marrying her, Henry."

Harry exhaled a sigh. "She upset Janet," he said cautiously.

"I can speak for myself," Ruth pointed out. "David… she said that you intend to change the succession."

David sighed. "How did that bloody woman – well, I guess the staff will talk, won't they? And most of them sided with that woman after the divorce." He huffed and made another grunt of disgust. "What I do with my estate is none of her bloody business. She has her own troubles."

Harry frowned. "I assured Janet that no decisions would be made without her consent," he said. "So don't go doing something stupid, father."

David pulled a face and muttered, "You always did spoil my fun. Anyway… there's cake and champagne. Portia is beginning to droop, so Elizabeth and I set her up with her cake and –"

"And then I'll take her to bed," Ruth interjected.

"I'll come with you," Harry said.

"No, you stay and enjoy yourself," she said softly. "I'm sorry I got upset. I need time to calm down." She needed time to come to terms with the fact that her Harry would go behind her back about something so vitally important. She needed time to understand why he would so quickly go back to keeping her in the dark like he didn't trust her.

She just needed some bloody time to come to grips with it all.

* * *

><p>It was nearly midnight when Harry was finally able to excuse himself from the guests and retreat to the safety of their room. Ruth hadn't come back down after putting Portia to bed; he found himself unable to blame her one tiny little iota for that. He'd taken Jane aside, out of the public gaze, and had a few incredibly painful words with her. His jaw was still aching from where she'd hit him and called him an unfeeling bastard. But it had been worth it to see the look on her face when he made it very clear that she had no rights – or claims to any rights – in his family line anymore.<p>

Their children were adults, with their own rights and their own children; they didn't need their mother to interfere on their behalf. And, repeating his earlier promise, nothing would be done without their consent – if not enthusiastic approval.

That had incited another fist flying toward him, but he'd dodged it. It was all much too close, emotionally and physically, to the end of their marriage to make him feel any kind of satisfaction in standing up for himself, for Ruth, for Portia. Her hurtled insults against Ruth were enough to make him sick; knowing she was jealous was one thing, but hearing the slurs was another. In the end, he very quietly told her that she was no longer welcome and to take her leave immediately before he had words with the MI-5 officers stationed around the house. (He should know they were there. Erin Watts and Dimitri Levendis were pretending to be guests, gawping about the place and ostensibly 'protecting' the Home Secretary.)

His heart was heavy as he went to the Yellow Room to check on Portia. He was determined not to be a failure as a father with her; the insanity of the night was clearly undermining that capability. He hadn't even wished her a good night or given her a kiss good night.

He went into the room and checked to make sure she was asleep. She was asleep on her back, one arm clutched around her threadbare teddy bear and her mouth open as she breathed deeply. He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, then retreated from the room before he could wake her.

Dimitri was waiting for him in the corridor, a half-drunk glass of wine in hand. Apparently, the Home Secretary was in the room next door to Portia's, and he'd just retired for the night, or Dimitri wouldn't be standing guard. "Harry," he greeted with a small smile. "Retirement suits you."

Harry snorted a little and shook his head. "Forced medical retirement," he corrected. "The Service frowns on you having a near heart attack and then attempting to carry on as if nothing happened."

"But you found something better," Dimitri replied with a bit of a smirk on his lips.

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I found the part of me that was missing," he corrected, "and I rectified the situation. Or at least, I thought I had – till my ex-wife made a bloody nuisance of herself and has probably made the love of my life run out on me." He ran his hand through his sparse hair and muttered, "My head is aching something fierce. I shouldn't have had so much to drink."

"Your wife's daughter reminds me of Rosie," Dimitri said. "Erin and I… we got married a few weeks ago. It's a big adjustment; Rosie just wants to be near me all the time because she's not had a dad."

Harry nodded curtly, unwilling – and unable – to talk about it. "You carry on, Mr. Levendis; and congratulations to you both," he said softly before he retreated.

The lights were off in the White Room, and he made it most of the way to the bed before he tripped on a wrinkle in the rug and landed flat on his face with a thud and an exhalation of pain. He heard Ruth turning over in bed, then the light came on from her side of the bed, illuminating the room in dim light.

"Do you need help up?" she asked, her voice soft and husky with exhaustion.

"No, I'll manage," he muttered, somehow managing to sit up despite the pain in his knee and the sudden flurry of other pains that were cropping up. The worst were the fluttering chest pains; he knew they were linked to his blood pressure but that didn't make them any easier to live with. "Ruth, I'm sorry –"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she sighed.

"Well, we need to – we shouldn't go to bed angry," he pointed out.

"I'm not angry." Her words were quiet and intense, belying the statement. "I'm tired and I don't want to fight with you. We can argue when we get back to London. Or not at all, preferably."

He fumbled with his tie and jacket, not caring that he was still sat on the floor. "Well, I am angry," he muttered. "I'm furious about this whole nightmare that Jane has plunged us into. What conversation passed between my father and I about the succession was private; his staff, clearly, is prone to gossip if she knew it. We've spoken to Catherine and she wants no part of any of it; not her mother's line and not mine. Graham is more interested in Harrowood than Bly, and he has no issue with father writing Portia in as the sole beneficiary of their generation. But I wouldn't have done anything without your bloody consent in writing," he muttered.

"Harry, I'm not doing this," she said in a low, firm voice. "Not tonight."

"I've said my piece," he grunted. It took a moment for him to get to his feet, and when he did, he was swaying, dizzy from the effort. The pain in his head had to be his blood pressure rising; the pain in his chest was another story, getting worse by the second. His fingers started tingling, his left arm went numb. "Ruth," he gasped. "I need –"

"You need to come to bed," she said.

"No," he gasped, croaking. "I need – ambulance – aspirin – my – my heart –"

She was out of bed in an instant, rushing to him, ignoring his gasping plea. If he was having a heart attack, he needed an ambulance soon as, and aspirin before that. He vaguely heard her shouting for help, vaguely felt her hands on him, before darkness overtook him.

His last thought was, _I can't die and leave her alone again_…

END PART TWENTY-ONE


	22. Chapter 22

Twenty-two:  
>Moments of Adversity<p>

It had been nearly twenty minutes since Harry had been whisked away into the Emergency department, leaving Ruth behind in the waiting area. Since then, she'd paced like a caged animal, pausing for a few seconds here or there to perch on a chair before she got back up and continued to wear a hole in the carpet. She knew she had to present a laughable figure to the other people in the room. She hadn't had time to get dressed or grab her purse or phone or anything. As such, she was wearing a pair of flats, an old pair of pajama shorts, a Grateful Dead t-shirt, and Harry's bathrobe – what she'd been trying to sleep in, aside from the shoes and the robe.

Her mind was going in a constant, never-ending circle of fear, denial, and self-hatred. If only she hadn't picked a fight with him. If only she'd been a little more open-minded about things. _If only she hadn't bloody let Jane get under her skin like a bad rash…_

She sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, tucking her feet beneath her, chewing absently on her fingernails. In twenty minutes, she'd already nibbled the nails on her left hand to the quick; as soon as she tasted blood, she switched hands unconsciously. Her stomach was tied in knots, her mind tumbling round and round in painful circles.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jerked and looked up at Elizabeth, seeing the world through a shining haze of tears. "Any news?" Elizabeth asked softly. Ruth shook her head and tried to speak, but her mother put a finger across her lips. "I brought you some clothes and your purse."

"What about my phone?" Ruth asked. "It was charging by the bed –"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I didn't see it – you must have knocked it down when you got up. Why don't you get changed and we'll wait here just in case there's news."

Ruth nodded stiffly, looking at the new arrivals – Graham, Sarah, and Malcolm. "How did you –"

"Malcolm got a set of car keys from the butler," Elizabeth dismissed. She pushed a bag of clothes into Ruth's hands. "He'll be all right," she tried to assure her. "Harry's a tough bastard."

"Yes, but –"

"No buts, young lady," Elizabeth said. "Go get dressed. There's a loo out the door and to the right about five doors down."

Ruth took the things and took a few shaky steps away. "Mum – thank you."

"Go get dressed," Elizabeth insisted. "I know you well enough to know you'll feel better if you're not traipsing around in your pajamas when the doctor comes to talk to you. Go on."

She hesitated again, and Graham added, "Please? I'll go get some coffee from the vending machine."

"All – all right," Ruth finally managed. She went to the ladies' and changed into the jeans and t-shirt that her mother had packed. Thankfully, she'd also thought to smuggle in a bra, otherwise everything would've been out on full display – the hospital's air conditioner was cranked up to eleven, and she was already shivering.

When she rejoined them in the waiting room, she felt more human – but no less guilty or upset. Her fingers were a mangled testament to her terror and nerves. She settled on the lumpy sofa with Sarah and Graham. Sarah immediately put her arms around her and held her close.

In the few days she'd known Sarah and Graham, they'd become as close to her as anyone; maybe not as close as Joe or Catherine… or, god forbid, Harry… but they were already a part of her new life, and she found herself leaning on them now in desperation.

"I texted Cate," Graham said. "She's freaking out worse than you are, Janet. I told her not to get on a plane till we know how bad things are."

Ruth nodded, the words barely making sense to her ears. "I need him to be okay," she whispered. "I need him to live through this."

"He will," Sarah said quietly. "Harry's a stubborn prick. He'll do it just because he knows he's not supposed to."

"This is my fault," Ruth exhaled painfully. "It's all my fault – we were arguing…"

"No," Sarah said, "it's not your fault. It's no one's _fault_. It's a thing that happens."

"I waited," Ruth murmured, feeling lost and alone in spite of everyone in the room. "I waited and hoped and prayed to a god I don't believe in any longer that he would find us and everything would be okay again. Everything was supposed to be easy and make sense and – and – it was just a fantasy I invented to keep going. And now, it's happened and all I've done is fight it. And nothing makes sense. I just need him to be okay." She ran her fingers over her cheeks, her temples, through her hair, dipping her neck and lowering her head nearly to her chest. "I won't hurt him again – I can't stand the thought of being the reason he's sick."

"You aren't the reason," Graham said, sighing. "He's got high blood pressure and this isn't the first time this has happened. Last time, they forced him to retire. The last one wasn't quite a heart attack; almost, though."

Ruth looked over at him. "Doesn't mean I'm not the reason this time," she muttered.

"He and mum had it out," Graham said. "If it makes you stop blaming yourself, point a finger at her."

"He shouldn't have had to 'have it out' with her," Ruth mumbled. "I should've exhibited some self-control and not risen to her bait."

"Jane is really good at baiting people," Sarah said quietly. "She's pissed off that Graham and I are having a baby already and that marriage wasn't necessarily put first. Well, really, sod her. She should be bloody thanking her lucky stars he's gotten clean and has been sober for a few years, and not worrying so much about him putting a ring on my finger before the baby comes. I just smiled at her and reminded her that at least her 'greatest disappointment' isn't in gaol."

"The bitch must be _thrilled beyond measure_ that you're inheriting," Ruth sighed, rubbing her face with her hands and sitting back again.

Graham laughed. "I'm not sure which is worse: being a disappointment to dad, who just looks down his nose at you and bails you out of lockup without speaking to you, or being a disappointment to mum… who goes batshit off the rails crazy and reminds you of every god-awful thing you've ever done in your worthless life before she reminds you all about the position of power you're expected to inherit. As if it's not just a bloody pile of money. There's no manor house or estate lands anymore; it's all money and property in Edinburgh, London, and York. Like it's difficult to manage a property empire."

Ruth bit back a laugh. "That's what your dad and I were arguing about," she sighed.

Graham leaned over and said, "I don't want to have to deal with Bly on top of Harrowood. Please do me a favor and let them give it to Portia. She'll know what to do with it all; I haven't a bloody clue."

"She's just a girl," Ruth reminded him very softly.

"Yes, but some day, she's going to grow up and she won't be a little girl anymore," Graham reasoned. "She's my sister and I'm trying to look out for her. Besides, grandfather thinks the world revolves around her at the moment – it's safer to play along with him than risk pissing him off. Believe me."

"Oh god, this is such a stupid thing to be worried about at the moment," Ruth whispered. "When your dad is back there, maybe dying, and we're out here just… talking about the bloody succession that doesn't even matter right now."

Elizabeth sighed and glanced over the top of her magazine. "You're being so bloody dramatic. Harry's going to be fine. He's too pig-headed not to be."

"And what if he's not, mum?"

"Then we worry about it then. As of right now, I'd like to think of my son-in-law as still alive and kicking." She went back to her magazine and sighed.

Ruth refrained from pointing out that he wasn't really, legally her son-in-law; and also from pointing out that it was really rather weird that her mother was only four years older than her husband. She was trying to refrain from a lot of things; opening her mouth only seemed to result in trouble.

She was well on the way to getting worked up again when a doctor came into the room. "Pearce?" he called out.

Ruth shot out of her seat and over to him. "My husband," she managed to say.

"Mrs. Pearce, let's go talk in the corridor," the doctor said gently.

Ruth's stomach fell and she struggled to keep her traitorous stomach under control as they left the waiting area. "Please tell me he's not dead," she murmured.

"He's alive and relatively stable," the doctor said. "We're doing a scan right now, but we're not seeing any blockages in the preliminaries. It's possible he's had a coronary artery spasm, as his blood pressure was dangerously high when he was brought in – but this would only be if we don't identify a blockage in the meanwhile. Either way, he has had a heart attack; he will be weak for quite some time. I'm recommending admittance for at least a week, and then rehabilitation."

"But he's alive," she said, her voice catching on a sob.

"Yes, he is alive," the doctor replied.

"I was just sitting there in the waiting room, worrying about how I'd have to tell our daughter that her father was dead," Ruth said. "But he's alive – everything is going to be okay…"

"Not necessarily," the doctor warned. "I'll know more when the scans are finished. It'll probably be a couple of hours."

Ruth nodded and exhaled deeply. "Okay," she murmured. "Okay. When can I see him?"

"After the scans are finished," the doctor said. "I'll send a nurse to fetch you."

"Thank you," Ruth whispered. She repeated herself, louder. "I'm sure later, there will be more things I'll need to know and new rules and things for his recovery – but right now, I'm just glad that he's alive."

"You should go try to rest a bit while we finish up. Like I said, I'll send a nurse round to collect you when he's settled in his room."

She nodded and went back into the waiting room. Malcolm met her by the door. "Well?"

"He's stable," Ruth said quietly. "They're doing a scan right now, but it's looking like it was an arterial spasm – unless they find a blockage."

Malcolm exhaled in relief and muttered, "Thank god."

Ruth looked over at her step-son and said, "I need to you text Cate and tell her to take her time getting here. He's alive and he'll be in hospital for a while."

Graham nodded and said, "Does he need surgery?"

"They're doing scans of his heart right now," Ruth said, sitting down on the couch. "They haven't seen any blockages yet, so it's looking like it was just an arterial spasm. But that doesn't mean it's any less serious than the other."

"Okay – I'll go call Cate," he said. "Will you be okay here?"

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "He's alive; I'll be okay."

* * *

><p>It took all the energy he had just to open his eyes; they felt like lead weights. He did a mental body inventory, but aside from twitching his fingers and toes, there wasn't much going on. Harry tried to take a deeper breath, but the oxygen just made him dizzy. His lips were parched, his head was aching, and the rest of his body felt numb. They clearly had him on the good juice.<p>

His eyes flicked over to the right – so far that he got dizzy. She was there, though, curled up in an uncomfortable ball in the guest chair. "Ruth," he rasped, the word sounding painful, alien. She stirred a little but didn't wake. "Janet," he tried again.

That time, she sprang awake like she'd been burned. "Harry," she gasped.

"You okay?" he choked out.

She came over and poured him a glass of water. "Better now," Ruth murmured, helping him with the water. He felt annoyed that she had to help him; she shouldn't be slaving over him, she should be home happy and carefree with Portia. "How do you feel?"

He hesitated, then admitted, "Bad."

She leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against his forehead. "Then close your eyes and rest."

A nurse came into the room and Harry reacted, his arm jerking at the sudden intrusion. "Mr. Pearce, I'm just here to check your vitals and adjust your pain medication," the nurse said with a smile. "It's good to see you awake."

He grunted something that might have been a non-committal reply. She checked all of the machines, notated things on his charts, took his blood pressure, temperature, etc., and finally said, "And on a scale of one to ten… how would you classify your level of pain right now?"

He hesitated a moment, warring with his inner demons. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't deal with it, but he was decidedly older than the last time he'd been stuck in hospital and as such, maybe his pain levels were affected? "Five," he grunted. "But no stronger medicine."

"Are you sure?" the nurse asked.

"Feel numb and floaty," he complained, pouting.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" she teased gently. "I'll dial it down a little bit."

"Thank you," he whispered. She checked his catheter and gently retucked his blankets. He could tell that she was someone who took pride in her work and genuinely cared about her patients; and as such, he couldn't find it in his heart to be a raging bastard because he was laid up in hospital.

Ruth settled back in at his side and held his hand. She was quiet, quite unusual for her, and it made him begin to worry. They sat in silence for a few minutes, then she said, simply, "I'm sorry, Harry."

His fingers curled around hers; it was too much work to speak, but the touch between them was perfect. It wasn't long before he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

><p>"I wanted to be here when you got here," Ruth said, hugging Catherine very gently, knowing the younger woman was still incredibly sore. "Harry's having more scans done – they want to rule out a blood clot or an arterial blockage completely – so I got away last night and had a shower and a rest."<p>

Portia was hugging Charlie tightly and they were gossiping back and forth about plane rides and train journeys and how awesome the house was. Gracie was hanging back, hiding behind Catherine a bit. "Nana?" Gracie said quietly.

"Yes, love?" Ruth murmured.

"Will you sign my cast?"

"Of course I will – and you know what? I bet we can get your granddad and your grandpa to do it, too, when he feels better," Ruth promised.

"I know where granddad keeps the markers!" Portia cried excitedly. "Come on, Charlie!" The two best friends took off at top speed, despite Alison barking orders for them to stop running.

"You want to go with them, honey?" Catherine asked Gracie. The little girl shook her head and clung tighter to her mother. "Are you still hurting? Do you need another pill, sweetheart?" Gracie nodded and Catherine sighed. "Okay, let's go to the kitchen and get something to drink and a snack for your tummy so the pain pills don't hurt it so much."

"I'll take you there," Ruth said with a small smile. "Want to hold my hand, Gracie?" She was rewarded with a tired, wan smile from the little girl and a proffered hand. "I'm sure Mrs. Whatley will square you away with some lemonade and something delicious to snack on."

"Mrs. Whatley's still around?" Catherine said. "Blimey, she must be old as –"

"She's not much older than your dad," Ruth said pointedly.

"Yeah, I guess that's true enough," Catherine replied. She followed Ruth and Gracie to the kitchen.

"Oh, now, who do we have here?" Mrs. Whatley asked. "Surely that can't be Miss Catie…"

"Please, just Cate now," Catherine said with a small smile. "You haven't changed a bit, Mrs. Whatley. And this is my youngest, Gracie. She's on some heavy painkillers, so we need something for her to eat when she takes them, please."

"I've got some leftover scones from breakfast," Mrs. Whatley said.

"That'll do," Catherine replied with a smile. "Things haven't changed here at all, have they?"

"Not since your father was a boy," Mrs. Whatley said proudly as she retrieved a plate of scones and some lemonade for Gracie. "Do either of you ladies want tea?"

"Oh, thank you, but later," Catherine dismissed. "I want to get the girls settled and go with Jan to the hospital to see my dad. Maybe when we get back."

Portia and Charlie ran back to the kitchen, giggling, a black marker clutched tightly in Portia's hand. "Now you can sign her cast, mom!" Portia cried.

"Are you three going to behave for Graham and Sarah?" Ruth asked.

Portia blinked at her mother, a portrait of innocence. "Yes, mom," she said quickly.

"We can go play outside, right?" Charlie added.

"Only if it's not raining," Gracie said with a little pout. "I don't wanna wear a trash bag on my arm."

Catherine stifled a laugh, as did Ruth. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something to do," Ruth said. "I think Graham said there are some games in a closet somewhere – or you can find granddad and borrow his telly for a while."

Catherine made sure that Gracie took her medicine, then ruffled her hair. "Go on, sweetheart," she said gently. "Nana and I will be back soon."

"Will grandpa be okay?" Gracie asked, clearly worried.

"He will," Ruth promised, kneeling down in front of the little girl. "He's just in a bad way right now. But he'll be fine soon." Gracie nodded, her expression dubious at best. "Oh, c'mere, you," Ruth sighed, pulling her into her arms and hugging her tightly but carefully. "I know you're worried because he's in hospital like your daddy was before he… before he died," she whispered into Gracie's ear, "but I promise you that grandpa will be all right soon."

Gracie hesitated, then hugged her back. "Okay, nana," she whispered back.

Ruth released her, and ruffled her hair. "Go play with the girls," she instructed gently. "Uncle Graham and Auntie Sarah should be around here somewhere." Gracie nodded and took off in the direction Charlie and Portia had gone a couple of minutes before.

Ruth straightened up and looked at Catherine. "You ready?" she asked. "We can steal the Lexus for a while."

Catherine laughed and said, "Steal?"

"Borrow with intent of joy riding to the hospital and back," Ruth teased. "David's fine with me taking the keys –"

There was a '_harrumph_' from the doorway. Ruth glanced up to see the man in question, who said, "Joy riding? In _my_ Lexus? I might have to come along on this excursion. My morning nap has already been interrupted by a couple of rapscallions in search of a marker."

Ruth smiled. "Harry would be glad to see you," she said gently. "He's getting stronger slowly." It was only three days after his heart attack, but Harry was up and slowly walking around with aid of a walking frame and a physiotherapist. It was because he was too stubborn for words, and his pride wouldn't allow him to admit defeat at the hands of his own ailing body.

"Then I suggest we leave the children here and adjourn to hospital," David said. "Mrs. Whatley, please ensure that lunch is served on time for the sake of the children – if we're still out, we can get something to eat then." He glanced over at Ruth. "My treat, of course."

"Of course," Catherine spoke up. "Granddad, you'll want to make sure you've got your wallet, then. Or it'll be a repeat of when you tried to treat Stephen and me when we were on honeymoon," she warned, shaking her finger at him and winking.

David scowled at her; in that moment, Ruth knew exactly where Harry's furious Grid face had come from. "Yes, yes, I have my bloody wallet," he grunted irritably. "Did you have a good flight?"

"Yeah, private jet is definitely better than the normal airlines," Catherine said cheerfully.

"Private jet?" Ruth questioned.

"Uh, yeah, well… Joe," was all Catherine said in reply.

"Oh, Joe," Ruth replied knowingly. "I'm surprised he hasn't made an appearance…"

Catherine, to her credit, didn't blush or flinch. "He had business in the city," she said. "Obviously, running a television network takes a lot of pots and fingers in all of them, but you know that and – and – he and his kids will be here tomorrow. He wants to talk to you about leave of absence until dad gets back on his feet and all –"

"Am I to ascertain that this Joe fellow is your boss?" David asked Ruth, with obvious distaste at the thought of her holding down something so vulgar as a television job.

"My boss and my friend," Ruth replied. "He's been good to Portia and me. David," she huffed, "don't give me that look. I've not slept with him or anything untoward – believe me, one mistake in the form of Iain bloody Lewis was more than enough."

"He better not so much as look at you sideways or he'll not be staying here," David snapped.

"Oh, please, granddad," Catherine muttered. "Don't be all noble and stupid – he's not interested in Jan. Trust me." This time, she did blush when Ruth glanced at her. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together and Ruth's eyebrows lifted inquiringly; Catherine blushed more and looked away. "Can we go now? I want to see dad before he's too tired."

* * *

><p>Harry hadn't realized that lying flat on your back in an imaging scanner, attempting not to move, was just as exhausting as any physical mission he'd been on in his misspent youth. They wanted him to try to walk back to his room after the test, but he was too shaky and weary to even make the attempt. Instead, he – and his IV – was wheeled back to his room in a chair in a rather undignified manner. Or, rather, he felt like he was suffering an indignity while the poor nurse chatted glibly about what he was going to get for lunch; which, for the record, sounded like an absolute bloody delight – in <em>HELL<em>.

It took a few minutes to get situated back in bed, and get his IV back on the pole. "I'll just do your vital check here and then you'll be free to take a nap or watch telly or whatever," the nurse said, beginning the endless rounds of checks.

Harry had been disappointed when Ruth had left the night before, but he knew she was absolutely shattered; she'd been by his side since he'd woken up in hospital, barely leaving to make a trip to the loo or to get a coffee and some toast in the canteen. The dark circles beneath her eyes were a testament to her devotion, and he had to cut her some slack and let her get some sleep. And some clean clothes. And maybe some actual food. Canteen food couldn't possibly be doing her any favors.

He'd been back in his room for maybe ten minutes or so when the door opened. BBC News was droning in the background and he jerked awake. He was expecting the orderly with the food tray; not his father. "Father," Harry groaned.

"Don't get up," David joked. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got run down by a lorry," Harry sighed. "I don't suppose you got the number plates as it drove past, did you?"

David laughed. "Not exactly. Your wife is grilling the attending doctor like it's her job," he commented dryly. "She wants all the details."

"It is her job," Harry muttered. "I've got no one else to care for me. I should feel bloody damn lucky she loves me enough to do it."

David settled into the visitor's chair with an audible wheeze of pain. "It's not like you to wallow in self-pity," he grunted. "Don't make me hit you with this walking stick, boy – it might impede your recovery."

Harry sighed and said, "I'm bloody worthless – I couldn't even get back to my room without a wheelchair and somebody pushing it. She doesn't deserve that. She deserves better than me."

"Don't be daft. You'll heal and be right as rain soon as." He paused. "Then you can get back to terrorizing football mums and driving Portia to and from school."

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "People think I'm her bloody grandfather, you know… people who don't know us, our history –"

"Let them. It shouldn't bother you. People are making a huge stink about me openly acknowledging her as my grandchild when she's not legally so. I don't care whether your name is on a piece of paper saying you're her dad or not; it doesn't make it any less the truth."

Harry nodded and felt drowsiness kick in again; he didn't fight it, just drifted away on a wave of sleep. When he opened his eyes again, Catherine was at his bedside. "Hello," he whispered.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Jan and granddad went to get tea."

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, more concerned with her well-being than his own.

"Much – Joe helps me change the bandages and put on the ointment," Catherine said, blushing a little. "I'll be healed up in no time, but there will probably be scars."

"Scars aren't a bad thing," Harry murmured. "They're a sign you survived. They're a reminder. Gracie?"

"She's okay," Catherine assured him. "She's worried about you, though."

"Poor mite," he sighed. "Give her a kiss for me." He paused. "Am I going to have to give Joe the lecture I gave Stephen before you married him? About treating my little girl right?"

"No, dad, I don't think so," Catherine murmured, her cheeks flaring up scarlet.

He nodded and relaxed a little more, listening to the soothing beeping of his monitors. "Is it lunchtime yet?" he asked, not sure what time it was.

"Yeah, soon," Catherine replied.

"Promise me you'll take Ruth and get something to eat," Harry said softly. "She's barely eaten anything since I woke up."

"Granddad's treating us," Catherine replied. "So I'll make sure she eats something."

The door opened and Ruth and David came in together. Harry smiled over at Ruth, hoping that he was faking feeling better than he was enough that she'd stop worrying. He hated the worry lines creasing her face, gathering at her lips.

"Your lunch will be here in a few minutes," Ruth said, leaning over and giving him a gentle kiss. His heart monitor beeped faster and she smiled against his lips. "Be good," she scolded. "How do you feel?"

"Better," he lied.

She frowned then. "Henry James Pearce, don't you dare lie to me," she scolded. "Truth, now."

He sighed, then capitulated. "Awful. Exhausted. Worthless."

"Not worthless," she whispered, stroking the top of his head, running her fingers over his sparse hair. "Never worthless, Harry. There are just some things you can't do right now. It's okay. Just… eat your lunch and rest. I'll be back after we eat and I take your dad and Cate back to the house. I'll be back in time for your physiotherapy."

He nodded his ascent and breathed her in deeply as she embraced him and held him longer than maybe she should have. "I love you," he whispered, his heart bruised and saddened by the thought that she could just up and leave him and he'd have no recourse but to stay put in this hellish hospital bed.

She kissed him gently on the lips. "Harry," she whispered, "I love you, too."

"Make sure she eats something," Harry reminded Catherine, who nodded.

When they were all gone, he indulged himself in a good, long cry. One that had been a long time in coming; it was part relief, part happiness, and part crushing depression all mixed into a hopeless soup of overwhelming intensity.

The orderly that brought his lunch just thought he was feeling sorry for himself and offered up a sugar cookie as a reward if he'd just stop bawling.

Harry didn't want a bloody sugar cookie.

END PART TWENTY-TWO


End file.
